Codependency
by Jennasidee
Summary: They connect through pain; it's always been the best way for them to see that they're both human beings, capable of human emotion. Capable of something more than deflection. But once House has Cuddy- what else does he have? Eventually H/Cu.
1. The Norm

_**Author's Note**: This is my first attempt at House/Cuddy; I'm an avid fan of them and the series House MD, but I've never written for them before, so I'm a bit nervous. I will be posting one chapter each week at the minimum. And, just a warning, if you don't enjoy Cuddy!Suffering, then you probably won't like this story._

_As far as House and Vicodin, this story pretty much follows Season Six. He's been to Mayfield and he's off of everything he's taking. Rachel also exists, but Lucas does not; sorry Lucas. You've had your run after Season Five. ;) I couldn't make him work in this._

_Everything will become clear in this story as it progresses- it might be a little confusing for a while, but I really hope you like it. Criticism is appreciated; happy reading. :)_

_Also, I don't own these characters, David Shore does. If I did own them, they'd be married and living in a pleasant suburban home somewhere. So, don't suck my blood, k?_

_

* * *

_

It was just another day, or so it seemed; nothing out of the ordinary- which meant, of course, that everything was. Unordinary was ordinary in her world; it was just another work-filled, stressful day. And it was only a Monday. But anything other than stressful would have made Doctor Lisa Cuddy, dean of medicine, tough-as-nails authoritarian and all-around professional-yet-womanly style nazi look down upon the day's events with contempt. Monday. An annoying, flooded and rushed Monday, but an accomplished Monday, should she say so herself. With an outward flustered expression, but an inward knowledge that she had done everything into the outreaches of her abilities, she leaned over to shut the blinds behind her office desk. The pitter patter of the rain on the hospital windows made the drive home look all the more… promising. Cuddy immediately rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. Yes, for even in her mind, she could be a sarcastic bitch.

She refused to believe that this was merely another one of House's doings, however; she refused to think he had that much of an influence on her at all. Gregory House, hm. Yeah. He had a lot of things, but _not_ overbearing influence over her. That would allow him the satisfaction, should he find out, of the fact that he could manipulate her when he wanted to. Overrule her. Hold his cane as a metaphorical staff and lord over her. _No._ He couldn't; she refused to believe it. He was a genius, a damn genius at that, but he didn't maintain more power than she did, and he never would, no matter what happened. She was the boss, he was the employee, and that was how it was supposed to be- that's how the laws of social darwinism worked. And Cuddy wasn't even sure she believed in that concept. . . but of course it had to mean something, right? Yes, she would never give him power. Not even if she lost _both_ of her legs in some freak incident.

But she knew that the chance of that never happening, along with the chance of it being House, rather, with a chainsaw in her room while she slept, were both far greater than the chance of a freak incident like that.

Point in case, House would never lord over her. Not the boss-lady, who had no problem with verbally abusing graduate students until they did her biddings, or who held the ability to manipulate insurance companies monthly to pay the hospital the money they were due; even if it was asking for one hundred more than they were willing to pay. Gregory House was always going to be just another miserable bastard compared to her.

No additional thoughts. None.

Cuddy had a habit of that. Losing herself in her own thoughts. She realized that she was doing it once again; thinking in circles, and so she set her mind to other matters. . . other more important matters.

With a simultaneous jangle as her bracelets rapped against her car keys, she stood up and turned her desk phone off, and then strode across the room in a smooth motion. She stopped and took her coat off of the rack, slid it around her shoulders, and proceeded out the door.

She was about to lock it, but never quite finished the motion.

"Evening, Lisa."

"Hey, James," she said absentmindedly to Dr. James Wilson, who had appeared beside her, looking as though he was just about to head out the door as well. In her brief distraction, her concentration was broken and she stopped to fumble with her keychain once more.

Wilson was now watching bemusedly, both eyebrows raised. "Hard day?"

Cuddy gave a somewhat strained smile, finally finding the key she was looking for. "I'm just fine," she said breathily; it was in truth. For some reason, however, she wasn't really in the mood for talking, but it wasn't Wilson, it was just her.

"You sure?" Wilson asked. Cuddy rolled her eyes to herself as she finally finished with her locking motion, and then turned around, giving him another forced, brief smile. Why did he never believe her when she told him she was fine? Yes, her life was busy and sometimes miserable, but that had no factor on whether she was fine or not. It was the norm. And she was fine with the norm.

"Yep."

But Wilson was still watching her. She tried to ignore it now as she turned away and opened her purse, putting her keys and Blackberry into a side pouch. In order to keep from looking at him again, she rummaged for her chapstick, applied some, and then smacked her lips together curtly. But it was inevitable; he was still standing there, and he would for sure continue to bother her if he thought something was up. She turned to look at him at last.

He gave her a complacent expression when their eyes met, shrugged his shoulders, and then nodded. "Ho-kay. Well, if you want to get any dinner, I'm free tonight. I'll buy."

Cuddy shook her head, pursing her lips together again. "Thanks, but no thanks, I have an eight o' clock meeting tomorrow morning, and I'm already running late. My babysitter's going to throw a fit."

"Sure thing," Wilson said, and then smiled sincerely. But Cuddy couldn't help sensing a trace of sympathy in it, and for some reason, that made her irritated. The irritation was brief and not intense, but it was there. It slid away as quickly as it had come, however.

"Well, whatever. Take it easy," he finished, and then pulled away, taking his keys out of his pocket and preparing the correct one with his thumb.

"Yeah," she said to just herself. She shook her head at this and grinned slightly; it wasn't forced or in-between stressed breaths. . . it was a real grin, a grin at what was just said to her. She knew Wilson was a friend, and he was obviously looking out for her, but sometimes things were just amusing.

Wilson always had this way of making himself the therapist of the place; making sure everyone around him was in good spirits. And he had, for some reason, sensed something off about her, when in fact, everything was fine. It was just funny and ironic- Wilson was the definition of extrovert. He spent so much time worrying about others that he barely had time to realize that his own life wasn't quite what he had expected. Yes, Wilson fit extrovert to a T.

"… And so the incessant, bitchy boss that's forcing me to do clinic tomorrow, even though I haven't had to do that in years, since apparently I'm fragile and broken now, is leaving; I can tell because it's getting dark out and you know that that means her ass is just blocking the doorway. . . and I should be free to play hooky tomorrow- Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," came a familiar voice- speaking in a tone that obviously meant he_ wasn't_ just talking to himself. And sure enough, Dr. Gregory House appeared in the lobby. He had just come out of the elevator and appeared to be leaving.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes in an amused, bored way and didn't acknowledge his presence otherwise. He, however, had stopped a few feet from her, watching her with a cocky expression on his face.

"I wasn't aware that hot-mamas-for-crippleds dot com was having a convention tomorrow," she quipped back lazily.

"Nope, that was last month. Ohhh. _That's_ why you didn't show up. You must have missed the memo, because, man, was YOUR pimp furious," he said as he limped after her to the lobbyist's desk, watching her from behind as she signed her name quickly on a case file and then gave the receptionist a smile. It was sad how good she was at showing no interest in him. Or maybe it wasn't a talent, maybe it was just a built-up immunity.

"Hm. Now I see why my itinerary has a huge blank spot for last month. I thought I just spilled coffee on it or something," she said as she made her way across the room and to the exit. House was still following her.

"Nope."

Cuddy said nothing else, and she still didn't look at him; instead, she searched her purse for her keys once again and pulled them out.

"So," House said after a moment, looking up toward the ceiling and then back down at her. "What are you doing this weekend?"

She was slightly surprised at the question, and turned to look at him; flicking her head back once to get a free lock of hair out of her eyes. This weekend? Why was he worrying about that now, on a Monday?

"What do you want, House?"

"Your PIN number, tighter nurses' uniforms, just about everything in the vending machine over there, which, by the way, takes penny slugs, anddddd, your panties." She shot him an unamused expression. "Sorry. Broad question. Also, what are you doing this weekend?"

Cuddy opened her mouth, but she couldn't speak right away. Instead, she looked away again, down at her hands resting on the handle of the glass doors. "I don't know. . . probably taking Rachel to my mother's so I can file some expenses for the new oncology lab," she murmured.

"Wow. Fun."

"Yeah, well, I have to. I'm not in college anymore, House," Cuddy said with a complacent expression, pushing open the doors and walking out into the parking lot. The rain wasn't receding a bit; in fact, it had actually gotten worse, so she pulled her coat against her shoulders more tightly.

"Clearly not," he said, with a slightly naughty grin. "Also, you're bluffing."

"Why are you still following me?" She asked irritably. "Your car is over there, with the rest of your kind."

"Oh, being a snob now, are we? That hurts, Cuddy. Hurts. Cuts right into my soul and stings my poor, black, black heart."

"Yeah, whatever," she said, getting into her car with some difficulty due to her stilettos. She leaned forward to pull the door closed, but House stuck his cane there. Truly irritated now, she looked up at him. "_What?_"

"Where were you last weekend?" He asked, seriously.

How had he known she wasn't home? She had only left her place once. He couldn't possibly. . .

Cuddy stopped, furrowed her brows, and opened her mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes full of both surprise and annoyance. . . and wanting answers. "What are you talking about?" She finally asked through her shock.

"Saturday. You weren't home."

"How do you know?"

"Wilson said he saw you at the hospital."

Cuddy didn't say a word for a minute; she just looked, deadpan, into his electric blue eyes. Finally, she sighed and then leaned back into her car to avoid getting wet. House still stood there, looking at her expectantly. Something inside her forced her to keep the door open.

"You're a stalker. You're a stalker, I'm hungry, and I want to go home. Goodbye, House."

"Where were you, Cuddy?" House wasn't about to give up, and now he was as intrigued as ever.

"Is this why you asked what I was doing this weekend? To see if it's a scheduled thing? You think I've got some sort of brain tumor, or STD, and I'm going in for weekly treatments? Or that some wart on my toe is causing my brain to swell up?"

House raised his brows. "It's _interesting_."

She shook her head, putting her keys in the ignition. "No House. It's really not. Trust me." With that, she shut her car door, looked behind her to make sure she was able to back out safely, and then began driving out of her parking spot. House didn't move, not even when she looked in her rearview mirror as she approached the exit gate. He was still standing there, watching her car disappear from sight.

With a huge sigh, she leaned back in her seat, gripping the steering wheel gently. The motion of the windshield wipers wasn't enough to comfort her this time, because she could still see her blue eyes in her reflection. Clear, blurry, messed up. . . clear, blurry, messed up.

It was to be expected that House would question her. She just wasn't sure if she liked the fact that he had already caught on to something being up. It didn't involve him, it shouldn't involve him, and that's why she wouldn't tell him. Not yet.

She wouldn't have told him ever, if she could have helped it. But she couldn't help it. He would find out, as would all the others.

But not yet.


	2. Momma, We're All Full of Lies

_I know it's usually a mistake to add characters in a fanfiction (Cuddy's mother, Dr. Miscolski) but trust me, they're very minor. Forgive me?

* * *

_Cuddy eyed the grapefruit sitting on her mother's table with some longing, but now was no time to eat. She tore her gaze away as quickly as it had occurred, and set her slate blue orbs on her mother instead, who was half-pacing, half-ambling through the kitchen.

It was Sunday. Normally, a Sunday meant a few office hours at work, maybe some overtime, if she could fit it in, and then a quiet evening at home; perhaps occasional working on the computer while Rachel played in the other room.

But today, Cuddy had fulfilled her new routine as of late- visiting her mother. She hadn't really ever been close with her, especially since she had moved out of the house to go to medical school, and her mother. . . wasn't her first choice, sadly enough, to be helping out with what she was doing. But she wasn't the last choice, either. And it was convenient. Convenience. That was all she needed.

"And you're finding out when?" Her mother asked, still fumbling around with the cabinets, seemingly half-interested.

"Soon," Cuddy said gently, bringing her long fingernails to rest on the tabletop. She tapped them against the marble impatiently, looked down, and then pursed her lips, unsure of what exactly to say. Her mother had known what she was doing from the beginning; but this would make it the first time that she had been so involved.

Cuddy rarely talked to her mother anymore; she was too busy. What did that mean, though? In terms of family. . . what did that mean? She would be lying if the thought never crossed her mind. But she always pushed it away and buried herself deeper into work.

But no matter, she still loved her mother. And she couldn't go to House. Not this time. So who _else_ would she have gone to? It was only natural. It was only natural to need help once in a while, too. Cuddy knew that, but it was still somewhat strange to her when she had to experience it.

"I'm supposed to wait seven to nine days, if I want the most likely results."

"Hasn't it been more than that?" Her mother asked casually, not looking at her daughter.

"No. It's been exactly eight days."

"Oh. Well, shouldn't you find out as soon as possible? You're a doctor, Lees. You know-"

"Yes, mom. I know, I know," Cuddy said, bringing her fingers up to massage her temples. "I'll find out. Don't worry about me, okay? Just do your part and carry on with your life."

Her mother suddenly stopped cleaning the cupboards and looked at her, a serious expression on her features. "You can't avoid things you're afraid of. You can't run from what you can't deal with. They're inevitable."

"I'm not running from anything," Cuddy protested; but bit her lip after she said so. . . she was afraid. She was very afraid. "Why would you say that? That doesn't even make sense."

She never ran from things she was afraid of. Not Lisa Cuddy. If anything, she welcomed new challenges; she welcomed the unknown, and any chance to prove herself. Her mother couldn't have been more wrong- she really didn't know her at all, did she?

Slightly irritable now, Cuddy got up from the chair. She was about to walk away when she looked at her mother, who was still indeed staring her down. Their eyes met, and she studied them. Suddenly, for the first time in a long while, Cuddy realized just how old her mother looked. She looked tired, worn down, and alone. Her gray hair was frizzy and fell around her face; her eyes were old and had absolutely no light to them. There seemed to be more wrinkles on her composure than ever before. Cuddy's expression softened, and she looked away. How long had it been? How long had she looked this way?

"Come here, Rachel," she said, walking into the other room and grabbing the coat hanging over a kitchen chair. "Let's go."

"Where are you going?" Her mother asked briskly, watching Cuddy walk into the other room.

"I'm going back home. I just realized I have some more papers to file for the Radiology students. Grading. You know."

"No, I don't know," her mother said; her expression hardening. "Lisa, you need to handle your situation like a big girl."

Cuddy's brows moved closer together in a dull frustration. Her mouth went thin, and she was at a loss for words. No, not a loss. . . rather a _restraint _of words. This was her mother she was talking to.

"I don't know what you're talking about, mom," she settled with, shaking her head dismissively and looking down toward her coat; diverting her gaze from her mother's stern one. "Don't worry about me. I think I know what I'm doing, alright?" She began to put it on as if everything was normal, as if this conversation didn't make her tongue itch and feel as though scalding water was penetrating her throat. Couldn't her mother tell that she was doing everything in her power to make things go well? Everything she could possibly do- worrying about it all the time? Didn't her mother know how important this was to her? Her mother didn't know her. Her mother hadn't known her since she was twelve years old.

_"Well, who do you have to blame for that other than yourself?"_

_

* * *

_When Cuddy arrived home, it was around nine o' clock. The house was dark and gloomy. Picking Rachel up and letting her rest against her shoulder (as she had fallen asleep in the car) and holding her keys in her other hand, she fumbled with the lock until it opened. She wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. It had been a while since she had left home all day, holding the job that she did, and she wanted to make sure everything was going to be ready for work tomorrow afternoon.

Her message machine was blinking, the red light mechanically reappearing and disappearing into the was the first thing that she noticed, out of habit. Setting Rachel down gently on the couch, along with her coat, she walked across the room. She was about to push the button in when something stopped her. She contemplated.

House. Had to be. Calling to bother her.

_"Stop being childish, Lisa."_

Her small moment of suspicion passed, and she pushed it before she could change her mind and go to sleep herself. The machine informed her in its monotone voice that she had two new messages. The first was from the hospital Pharmacist; she erased this without further ado, but the second made her pause and listen intently.

_"Dr. Cuddy, this is Beth Miscolski, from the office. I'm calling to confirm your blood test tomorrow. The appointment is at nine in the morning at Princeton-Plainsboro. Thank you for taking the time to listen, and good luck."_

End of messages.

Cuddy pursed her lips, stood for a moment, and then erased this one with great hesitance. But it did not leave her unaffected. It was happening, it was real, and it was soon.

She went to bed after this. And the next morning, she didn't go in for her blood test. Not because she forgot, or because she was afraid. . . not because she wanted to prolong the inevitable, as she knew that would be dangerous and stupid. . . but because she wanted to figure it out on her own. She was an endocrinologist, after all.


	3. Fairly Positive

_**Authors Note**: I know what you'll be thinking at the end of this chapter. "Oh God, another one like this?" But hopefully you'll keep reading, hopefully you'll give me a chance, and hopefully, just hopefully, I'll surprise you. Hopefully this one won't be the same old thing._

* * *

Cuddy bit her lip, standing alone in her living room. Her heart was pounding. This was it, everything was about to be revealed.

She was pacing. Pacing around her living room. Why was she pacing? God, she was annoying herself. But she needed to stop.

_Stop pacing. _

_"It doesn't matter,"_ she contradicted. Pacing is pacing.

She stopped anyhow; scanning her surroundings. All was quiet, except for the clock above her mantelpiece in the living room. It ticked loudly, too loudly. It ticked at the obnoxious volume in which clocks tend to do when you're trying to listen to something, concentrate on a paper, or fall asleep.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. One. Two. One. Two._

There was a rubber-band ball, resting on the coffee table. She unrolled one subconsciously and began lolling it in her fingers as she resumed pacing.

Rachel was still asleep upstairs; she needn't worry about her getting into anything. It was, after all, 5:30 in the morning. But Cuddy hadn't even had a chance to brew coffee, straighten her hair. . . she had skipped her morning yoga session, even getting dressed was put on hold.

_One. Two. Tick. Tock._

There were plenty of moments like this during a doctor's lifetime. Waiting for the truth; the divine truth. . . the type that can make or break someone. Live or die, die or live. Success or failure. Wrong or right. Cuddy was all-too-familiar with times like these; all doctors were, especially deans of medicine. _Especially_-especially any boss of Gregory House. But this time was different. This time rested upon a whole new magnitude. She had experienced it only three other times in her life at this magnitude, and each and every time, she had despised it.

She needed balance; equilibrium. She needed everything to be working perfectly. Things couldn't work perfectly until she knew the answer to them.

Cuddy looked up toward the clock. It kept ticking, seemingly in protest. . . _tick, tock. One, two. Tick, tock. Yes, no. _

It was quietly aggravating her on purpose, finding joy in her anguish. Much like a certain someone she knew.

Yet, she couldn't peel her eyes from it.

_No, no. No, no. No, no._

The sounds were meshing together; the tick tocks were now no longer presenting her with two opposing possibilities. Just a simple, neat, no.

What else was she expecting?

Cuddy finally looked away, but the words wouldn't stop buzzing through her head. _No. No. No._

_"You're hearing things, Lisa. Calm down."_

She needn't get her hopes up. This was the last chance, she promised herself. The last time she would ever need to look upon this answer for the rest of her life. She would pursue it no more after this answer, no matter what it was. It wouldn't be necessary. It wouldn't be necessary to constantly break her own heart time after time, again and again.

But no, it wouldn't be heartbreak this time. She was expecting nothing. If she was, then it would be sorrowful. But she wasn't, and she would hold no ounce of surprise if she didn't get the answer she had worked so hard for.

That stupid clock! Couldn't it just shut up?

She couldn't bear the sound anymore. Flicking the rubber band across the room, not caring where it ended up, she moved to another room. When she discovered that the clock was audible there too, she ascended her stairs, turned in the upstairs hallway, entered her room, exited, and then settled on the corridor just outside the bathroom.

With a heaving sigh, she rested her back against the wall and slid down it, until she was on the heels of her feet, sitting near the floor. Her hands dangled over her lap; her head drooped to the ground. She waited.

Every second seemed to last an hour.

Cuddy closed her eyes and realized her fatigue. It wasn't often that she had so much time to relax and pay attention to her feelings; every morning was a huge rush for her. When her schedule was disrupted, she was thrown off. But sleep. . . sleep sounded nice. An escape. . . sounded nice . . .

She awoke to the sound of a timer going off- it was shrill, quick, and ended just as it had begun. But it was enough to make her open her eyes. She slowly lifted her neck, her blue eyes now glaring straight ahead, into the bathroom.

She got up slowly, steadied herself against the wall, as she had drifted off for a few minutes and was still a little groggy, and then walked into the room.

Cuddy stopped in front of the mirror. She eyed her reflection suspiciously for a moment, and then examined it fully. Her hair was frazzled and in its natural state- curly. She hadn't done anything to it, not yet. A few black strands were poking out from random spots, and a lot of others fell around the sides of her face. The gray robe she had wrapped around her body looked black in the dark room that was not yet filled with sunlight, and her eyes had dark circles beneath them. This was her. She realized her age; her demeanor. She was not a happy woman. At her core, she was content; comfortable with her ever-changing, crazy, unstable lifestyle. But she was not happy.

Her heart skipped a beat; she swallowed. Was she really ready for this? No, but she had to do what she had to do.

Why hadn't she just gone in, had her blood test done, and gotten the answer from someone else? It would have been easier to do this while she was not alone. But Cuddy never took the easy way out, and she was at her most comfortable when she was alone. It made not an ounce of sense, but it was true.

She heard Rachel cry in the other room. Her daughter was up; hungry, tired, and cranky. Cuddy bit her lip out of habit, but didn't look away from the mirror. "I'm coming, Rachel," she said out loud. "Just a minute."

Finally, she tore her eyes away from the glass, and looked down at the side of her bathtub instead, where she had left the little white stick.

With a careful hand, she reached out and grasped the sides of it delicately, as if it was something that would rear its ugly head and kill her should she handle it incorrectly. She turned it over, looked away, and contemplated for a few moments. Finally, she set her eyes on it.

It read positive.

Cuddy had no idea what to do, and she had no idea how this was true- but it was there, in front of her, and so she did the only thing she could do. . . she placed the pregnancy test on the porcelain sink, treating it as though it were the very fetus that lived inside herself; as carefully as can be, as though it might slip through her fingers at any given moment.


	4. Pessimism

_**Author's Note:** The dream sequence was inspired by another author; it is not fully my idea. I promise things will be explained in due time.

* * *

_

A week passed. Two weeks passed. House did no further prodding, much to her surprise, and Cuddy therefore had no reason to speak about anything.

Nobody at the hospital, except for Dr. Miscolski, who had performed the procedure, of course, knew of her condition, and she planned to keep it that way for as long as possible. She found no reason to get anybody's hopes up. She found no reason to involve anyone in her personal life at all.

So far, things were relatively easy. Cuddy experienced no change in her body yet; no cravings, no nausea, no late night sweats. . . nothing. The only thing she noticed was a slightly more frequent hunger. But that was to be expected; she was only three weeks along. She had no trouble hiding the pregnancy, and, at times, it almost seemed as though she wasn't carrying a baby at all. Well. . . if she wanted to get technical, she wasn't. She was carrying a zygote- a bundle of cells, barely bigger than her thumbnail.

But she was pregnant, definitely pregnant, though it seemed otherwise. She had called to reschedule her appointment the very morning that she had read the little positive sign.

* * *

_Sitting on the metal table, her legs crossed, she waited calmly for the woman to come back. _

_Although she felt weird, and slightly awkward, as she was vulnerable to someone of lower power at her own workplace, she also had felt it was best to have everything done at Princeton Plainsboro. It made sense. They were the best hospital around for miles, and she knew many of the doctors would make sure their dean received the utmost care. And none of them would gossip, in fear of losing their jobs._

_"So, Dr. Cuddy, you ready?" _

_"Sure," she said with little emotion, albeit watching Dr. Miscolski with anxious eyes._

_The woman looked at the paper, and then up at Cuddy. She smiled._

_Cuddy swallowed._

_"You're pregnant, Lisa. Congratulations."

* * *

_

Ever since then, besides the knowledge of her condition, nothing had changed. Cuddy felt like she should be overjoyed, but instead, she was. . . numb. It was almost as if she had gotten what she never thought possible after years and years of intense desire, and now, hadn't a clue what to do with it.

She felt something else, too, but she didn't know what it was.

Two more weeks passed, and then two more. By this time, Cuddy had begun to experience nausea- and long bouts of it, too. It was an achy feeling in her stomach, and if she did so much as press upon it, she would need to find the nearest lavatory. She found it annoying and bothersome, disruptive to her work day. But she took it as a good sign; morning sickness was a sign of a healthy baby. Her hormones were changing.

This was a high risk pregnancy. Cuddy knew it, and it worried her often. Always she expected the worst to happen. After each and every day, she found relief in getting home without experiencing any spotting. Still, when the morning sickness wasn't bothering her too badly, and when she wasn't popping her prenatal vitamins, she almost pretended that nothing had changed. It was on her mind all of the time, but it wasn't the focus of her worries. Her job was.

By this time, House was getting curious. She could tell. He was the only one she thought it would be a challenge to keep things from. One day, a Tuesday during her seventh week, House rapped on her office door with his cane. Cuddy had been on the phone, but she rolled her eyes- she knew she wouldn't be for long.

House entered.

"Since when do you place restrictions on Youtube?"

Cuddy looked up at him, still holding the phone. "Hold on, I'm going to have to call you back." She hung the phone up; it hadn't been an important conversation anyway, and then raised both brows at him. "Come again?"

"Mommmmmyyyyy, why don't you give me permission to watch videos at work?" House continued in a whining voice.

"I don't believe I gave you permission to _enter_, either."

"Seriously though, a twenty minute restriction? A PASSWORD protected firewall? Have you no sense? I need that website so I can watch people who have had cases with similar symptoms!"

"House, you need that website so you can watch soft core porn."

"YouTube doesn't allow nudity. You lose, boss-lady."

"Ah. So nudity is soft core for you. I'm sorry, I didn't know where your sick, perverted mind had its mindset at."

"Oooh, look at that, you made a pun. You're so clever!"

"House, what do you want?" Cuddy mused, bringing both legs up to rest on the side of her desk.

"Oh, just permission to cut into a guy's head and play with his brain, nothing too serious."

"If you use those terms with me, you'll have more restriction in your life, pal. You're not going to 'play around' in someone's head."

"Come on, you know what I mean. _Anddd_ you and I both know it's pointless for you to pretend to be professional, so let's save each other the time and trouble."

Cuddy gave him an irritated look. "Why do you need to cut into this patient's head, what is his diagnosis?"

"Don't have one yet. That's the reason I need to cut into his head. Duh. Gosh, Cuddy, sometimes I wonder-"

"House. No games. I'm not in the mood today. Give me a valid reason as to why you need to cut open someone's head, and I will grant you permission. Then you go in there, cure him, and move on with your life." She gave a forced grin. "That simple."

House raised both brows and shot her a smug expression. "You like me, don't you?"

"What?"

"You enjoy that I'm in here, giving you attention. You just have to pretend that you don't so you can stay in power. So you can be a good boss."

"No House, you're actually _really _irritating me, don't worry."

He was using a distraction technique. Trying to throw her off.

House, still holding his smug expression, continued. "You think that anything I have to say, no matter how pointless and annoying it may be, is worth listening to. You secretly look forward to when I barge in here and make a ridiculous claim, because you _want_ to indulge in my behavior. Otherwise, you would've sent me out already, because I obviously just need a yes from you. Otherwise, you wouldn't have hung up that phone."

Cuddy's eyes traveled to the phone for a moment, and then back to him. "Give me a reason, and trust me, I will send you out of here in the meanest, most unlikeable way possible." He was unbelievable.

House grinned, looked down at the floor, and then spoke. "He's got a brain clot. I need to see what's causing it."

"Well, can't you just give him an MRI?"

"Won't be accurate enough. The problem's deep in his brain. Actually, I don't think it's a brain clot at all, I think it's a parasite. If we open his head, either way, we'll be sure to find out. It's got to be one of those two."

Cuddy gave a loud sigh and brought her hands up to her temples, massaging them. "So. . . you're saying I should allow you to completely skip over the MRI to cut open this guy's skull, expose whatever condition he may have to millions of other's in this hospital-"

"Quarantine," House said matter-of-factly.

"-and then go from there?" She ignored his interruption.

"You forgot the part where I cure him and sew him back up."

"Because that part might not even be in the equation. You can't just cut open someone's head with an unconfirmed diagnosis _hoping_ to find something. He could die during the procedure!"

"Just let me do this, I know what it is," House said, his voice becoming more frustrated.

"I can't, House. I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be _pathetic_. You're not sorry, and you can," He looked back up at her; his grin was gone. "You just don't _want_ to, because you think he could die. Well, if I don't find what's causing his brain to short fuse and backfire everywhere, he will. You're saying no based on some random, unlucky chance; a chance that's less likely to kill him than whatever thing he has in his head is."

"Fine, find out what it is," Cuddy snapped, her voice becoming just as fierce. "Give him an MRI. If that doesn't give you your answer, go back to the drawing board."

House sneered, but he knew her word was final.

"You're killing this man."

"So are you, by standing around bothering me."

"I need your approval. State says. Otherwise, I'd have sawed into his head and he'd be out of your hair."

"Well, you didn't get it, House! My answer is no. Go do your job, or I WILL."

He fell silent for a moment, scanned her, and then looked at her in an interested way.

"What's gotten you so cranky?"

She looked at him, he looked right back; their eyes met. Did he know? His tone hadn't been as ignorant as she would have liked. It sounded more. . . curious.

No, she was being paranoid. Or was she?

Without another word, House spun around and walked out. She watched him go suspiciously. It wasn't often that he didn't put up more of an argument.

Picking up her phone and dialing quickly, she reached Dr. Eric Foreman.

"Hey. It's Lisa. Yeah. Make sure Dr. House doesn't try anything."

* * *

Cuddy lifted her head out of the sink, looking at her sweaty reflection in the mirror. She had just ridden her body of both her yogurt and fruit salad lunch, and her dinner.

_"Whatever," _she thought apathetically. _"I hadn't wanted to eat you anyway."_

With a shaky sigh, she tightly gripped the edge of the sink and lowered her head again, closing her eyes. This was the worst she had experienced any morning sickness yet. The nausea was creeping up again, intense. . . it made her stomach clench. . . and then it passed. It was gone. She opened her eyes.

Her Blackberry went off in the other room. She let her hair down and then rinsed the sink quickly. It was eleven thirty at night; whoever had wanted her must have a good reason. Probably an emergency down at the hospital.

She checked her phone, being careful to skip the squeaky board in front of Rachel's bedroom. It was from House, marked urgent.

She picked it up quickly. "House, you are not cutting open your patient's skull. No, I don't care _what _his mother says!"

* * *

_She was in a room. A dark room. The lights came on; she looked around. She was in the conference room at the hospital. _

_But it was still so dark in here. Why was it so dark? The only light that was on was weak, and the room was gloomy. The head of the hospital board was up at the front of the room talking while the rest were seated around the table. Nobody else seemed to notice that the room was so dim, nor care._

_She was trying to watch intently, to listen, but there was a dull distraction. She squirmed in her seat; she was uncomfortable. Her belly was big, not that big, but big enough to be noticeable. She squirmed again, vaguely realizing that her seat was wet. _

_Something lit up in her. It had been wet for a long time, but she just realized that it was abnormal. She slowly reached her hand down and felt beneath her skirt. When she pulled it out, a crimson liquid dripped from three of her fingers. She looked down toward her lap and saw a trail of blood, flowing off of her seat onto the floor._

_Wow, there was so much blood. She had never seen so much blood. For a moment she thought it was menstruation, but realized stupidly that that didn't happen during pregnancy._

_She was losing the baby._

_She turned her head and focused on the speaker again. The light was so dim, she started squinting. She couldn't hear. It was too hard to see or hear. She was getting angry; how was she supposed to know what to put on file for today if she had no idea what the hospital expenses were in the first place!_

_"Hey," said the man sitting next to her. "You're bleeding."_

_"Yeah," Cuddy said, looking down at her blood again. There was a pool on the floor now. It was weird how it was just coming out of her; she thought miscarriage was supposed to be a long and sometimes painful process. "I can't hear, can you hear?"_

_"I can hear."_

_She was more aggravated than ever. She couldn't hear! Why was she the only one having trouble hearing? It was essential she know this information!_

_She pursed her lips together and tried to listen. But now it was impossible. She leaned forward in her chair, and said, in her most authoritative voice: _

_"Excuse me. I need you to speak up."_

_Everyone looked at her for a moment, and then continued, as though she hadn't even spoken. She was irritated, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Hey!"_

_"Wow," the man next to her said again, looking down at her stomach. "It's like you don't even care."_

_What else had she been expecting?_

Cuddy awoke, drenched in sweat. She felt queasy, but not too queasy. It was only a dream. Thank God it was only a dream.

But now, she had figured out what else she was feeling, besides numbness, toward the pregnancy.

Pessimism.


	5. Expect the Worst

"-and his B/P is five times normal," Dr. Hadley finished, crossing her arms.

"Great!" House said, twirling his cane.

"Great? The man's dying and we still have no idea what's in his head!"

"I know what's in his head," he said, slightly irritably. "It's a parasite, and all's we have to do is treat him for that."

"We can't just _treat_ him for a parasite if we have no idea that's what it is."

"Well, if it starts killing him, we stop," House said, looking toward the floor, his expression hard.

"For all we know, he'll be dead by tomorrow. If we give him a treatment that could kill him faster-"

"RIGHT, OKAY! Why don't you tell us what better plan you obviously have!" House said loudly, clearly aggravated. "Because I think we could ALL use that right about now!"

Nobody responded. Foreman's eyes wandered to Chase, Chase looked at Thirteen, and Thirteen stared at House.

"We need more than just an educated guess. We need to have some kind of clue about what's in his head, before we go giving him a potentially fatal drug!" Thirteen said bravely.

House sneered. "And _I_ thought we dumped Cameron in Chicago."

The sound of an opening door interrupted them. House's head turned, as well as all the others. Cuddy entered the room, holding a clipboard to her chest.

"Doctor Cuddy! Why don't you explain to these lovely, beautiful, life-saving people why we can't confirm our diagnosis and save our patient," House leaned in toward her; she was now standing by the door, looking at them suspiciously.

"I came in here to tell you that if you move my keys one more time, so help me God, I will fire you, and then get a locksmith and change every lock in this hospital," Cuddy said.

"And this folks, is the reason we can't cut into the guy's head and save his life," House said, grinning mockingly at the team.

"House, you know that you can't just-"

"Dr. House," interrupted a rather rushed looking nurse, who had appeared in the hallway. "Your patient's being rushed to the OR."

Everyone in the room fell silent, even Cuddy. House looked at her and gave her a mocking 'oh-so-close' expression. "Oooooh, I'm sorry. Time's up!"

* * *

"I need oxygen in here, stat!" A bunch of doctors dressed in white working on the patient scrambled to complete the request.

"Well, this looks like a fun game!" Yelled a rather unfazed looking House, who had now appeared, yet again twirling his cane. He was followed by Thirteen, Chase, Foreman, Taub and Cuddy.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked aloud, just audible enough to be heard over the beeping machinery and frenzied doctors.

"He had a stroke, looks like mild bouts of apraxia. We need to get into his head, now," answered a surgeon.

House looked at the team. "See, puppies. It's like I've always said. House is right, House is always right, and if you try and think of alternate theories that might be safer but know that mine is probably the best one there is, you're going to end up killing someone."

Thirteen rolled her eyes, Chase said nothing, and Foreman and Taub were already helping the many doctors trying to save the man.

"The easy way out is what killed Kurt Cobaine. We should have looked into his head a long time ago," House muttered.

"Seriously, House, he's dying, you're going to gloat about this?" Thirteen said, leaning over the patient's body to help the others move him onto his back. The room now began to break out into another frenzy as they lost the man's heartbeat; a woman was yelling for the oxygen, Chase was yelling "Clear!" and a few other doctors were watching anxiously. House stopped to observe everything, shook his head, and then turned around to face Cuddy. "Hey Cuddy, you remember when you said-"

She wasn't there.

"Where the hell did she go?" House asked, his facial expression changing drastically; showing true concern for the first time all day.

* * *

She had made it just in time. Clutching the edges of the sink, she turned the water on and lurched; all of the contents in her stomach now in front of her. The water washed it down as quickly as it had appeared, but Cuddy could tell by the awful taste in her mouth and ache in her abdomen that she had thrown up nothing. She had eaten nothing; she had been too nauseous; and now, she was getting rid of nothing.

"_Not healthy."_

When was this going to be over? She knew that many women had this up to as late as five months in. It was disrupting her work day, making her exhausted, taking a toll on her up kept appearance. She looked around after she was sure the worst was over, pushing a loose strand of hair off of her sweaty forehead. Nobody was here. She was safe.

She was well into her second month now, and yet, she had no idea how or what to tell anyone. She knew that everybody was still in the unknowing; it wasn't hard to hide things when she wanted to. Nobody had any clue. Not even House. She at least didn't. . . think so.

That was a feat in itself.

She opened the bathroom door and looked around; everybody was walking through the hall at their own pace; nobody noticed her. She slid out of the bathroom, relieved, but still queasy, and began briskly walking back down to the OR.

She would tell House that she had an emergency page- after all, a dean of medicine had plenty of things to do around the hospital. Never a moment passed when she wasn't busy.

"Lisa."

Cuddy turned her head and saw Wilson coming toward her, looking somewhat hurried.

"House's patient is stable. They've got him in the ICU for now. Still no idea what's wrong with him."

"How do you know?" She asked, slightly confused.

"One of the nurses overseeing the guy's case just passed me in the hallway. I asked how it was going, she told me."

"Oh. Well," she said as they both resumed walking down the hall- now heading toward her office. "I told House that he can't cut into a man's head without a clue of what he'll find. He has to have a purpose to a risky operation like that." What was she telling Wilson for, did she need reassurance that she was doing the right thing?

Wilson nodded. "Exploratory surgery does work sometimes, you know."

"In his head?" She asked.

"It. . . could work," Wilson tried again hesitantly.

"Whose side are you on?"

"Look, I'm only saying. What other options does he have at this point?"

"Wilson, It's House. It's not God. It's not Jesus, or some other pure messiah who has the hands of a saint. It's House. He can make mistakes. He can screw up, and he can kill people. He's not always right. And I-"

"Are you okay?" Wilson asked, squinting at her, looking at her inquiringly.

". . . What?" She was taken aback at his sudden change of subject.

"You look a little pale. Are you sick?"

"I'm. . . fine, thanks for asking," she gave him a weirded-out expression; her tone suggesting otherwise.

"Are you sure?"

_If he asked that one more time. . . _

Cuddy realized at this moment that they had both stopped walking. She continued; he followed, albeit more slowly this time.

"I'm fine, just had a rough night, that's all." It wasn't entirely a lie.

Wilson said nothing. Cuddy's beeper went off, and she pursed her lips apologetically.

"Um. . . I don't really have. . . _time_ to waste right now, so either we both get back to our jobs, or you have something to tell me that will help House's patient."

Wilson took this as a cue to back off of the personal level- he gave a small smile. "Back to work it is, then."

* * *

_She was walking down the hospital hallway. Well, walking to the best of her abilities- she was heavily pregnant. Again, it was dark. A few fluorescent lights flickered. She was trying to get to her office, as there had been an insurance representative there a few minutes ago. _

_Suddenly, she saw House limp out of a patient's room and duck into a hallway._

_"House!" She called loudly; he had obviously done something against the rules. In an instant, she forgot about her office and called for him again. "House!" She yelled louder. He ignored her and began limping faster. She started after him._

_It was so hard to run, so hard to keep up with him. How was she not able to catch him? He was crippled! Yet, nobody was stopping to help her. Instead, she saw them staring as she ran down the hallway. House always seemed to stay one step ahead of her, and to make matters worse, it was so dimly lit. She was out of breath and her condition made it almost unbearable to keep running. _

_She had a pain in her lower abdomen. She reached down to clutch her stomach; and then stopped. _

_She was bleeding. She was miscarrying. The blood trickled from her and onto the floor in a huge puddle._

_To her horror, she realized that an inspector was here today. He wouldn't want to see blood on the floor! It was her blood, it was her fault! She stopped trying to catch House and fished for her pager in her coat pocket._

_She dropped it; it bounced against the floor and stopped. She tried to bend down and pick it up, but her stomach got in the way, and it was just out of her reach. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and then two strong hands trying to help her up._

_"Dr. Cuddy, we need to get you to the emergency room," said a rather concerned looking doctor; a few others were standing by, watching her. "You're miscarrying."_

_They started to lead her away, but she looked back at her trail of blood anxiously. "That needs to be cleaned up," she said. "I need a janitor on the scene now. That needs to be cleaned up."_

_"We'll take care of it," the male doctor said surprisingly, and a few others nodded and sent for the janitor. Cuddy sighed. _

_"I'm going to fail the inspection. The hospital is going to lose its status. I don't even know where House went."_

_The doctor was silent for a moment, and then he looked at her. _

_"Don't you have more important things to be worrying about?"_

_"What else is going to happen that I haven't expected?"_

She awoke slowly this time- she hadn't been shaken awake; she wasn't covered in sweat. . . she woke up normally. She had fallen asleep in the most uncomfortable position. She was on her side, one hand on her cheek, the other resting on her still flat stomach.

She listened for a moment. Rachel must still be asleep, but the atmosphere wasn't entirely silent; she could hear birds singing outside. Glancing at the clock, she sat up in horror. She had not only slept well, she had overslept.

By now, that dream hadn't scared her in the way it had at first. She supposed it was only a normal thing to happen to first time mothers. But why didn't she. . . care in those dreams? Why was she expecting to miscarry?

It was simple, she thought as she got up and dressed herself in a robe. She was. The odds were against her. She had miscarried once; her chances of doing so again were doubled. She was almost forty, and she had had trouble conceiving.

Some people are just born with their hormones against them. The endocrine system was her specialty; she knew this.

She _was_ expecting it. She didn't want it to happen, but rather than spending her days looking forward to having her own kid at last, she spent them expecting things to go wrong at any given moment.

It was really only simple, truthful, scientific fact. The simple truth that House loved so much.

She bit her lip and tried not to think of him as she poured herself her decaffeinated coffee; yet another sacrifice she had had to make for this baby.


	6. And Blue is Just Blue

_**Author's Note:** Sorry this one is so short, but I've got a long one coming up soon. Also, just wanted to answer a question- yes, the conception is still a mystery, but it will be cleared up very very soon.

* * *

_

When she had gone into work, it had been raining hard. The drive was tolling, not to mention, annoying. Her beeper had gone off three times in the car and she was forced to pull over and answer them. When she finally got to the hospital Princeton was experiencing a downpour, and she had to make her way to the door in it. With contempt, she walked to the entrance and shook her hair out in the lobby. Today was not going to be a good day. She could tell _that_ by the way the lobbyist gave her a slight sneer after signing a file sitting on the desk.

"Problem?" Cuddy asked indignantly in reply.

"No," she said. "Although, you might want to check line four. We've got a couple dozen complaints about your 'loosening reign' on the doctors in this place."

"What did House do?" She asked exasperatedly.

"You _miiiight_ just want to check."

With a sigh, Cuddy turned her heel and walked into her office, preparing to start her day.

* * *

A half hour later, Cuddy was already exhausted. A new bout of nausea had overtaken her, and she was counting down her hours.

_"This has got to be over soon," _she thought to herself, placing a hand on her stomach. Her touch was gentle; any other, she feared, would provoke more vomiting. She may have had more reasoning behind this too- perhaps, a fear of doing anything to harm the baby, but she shook her head and dismissed this stupid reason. It was surrounded with fluid and safe. Her touch couldn't harm it.

But that was exactly how fragile she felt.

Her phone rang, she answered it. Twenty minutes later she received a page. She scurried to answer this; she scurried to keep the surgeons going, and she scurried to maintain her professionalism whilst wanting to go home and sleep through her miserable morning sickness all throughout the day.

Around noon, the nausea had really reared its ugly head. It was making her sweat. She was sitting at her desk; her legs crossed, her head resting against her palm, closing her eyes. She was just thankful for a moment of peace. Any moment now she was going to have to go out there and do her job. Maybe after she allowed herself to vomit, she would be better. . . but when would she be able to slip into the bathroom without anybody noticing?

She needed to stop being so paranoid. Nobody was going to suspect a thing. Yes, in fact, she really needed to go now. She waited a moment, pushed her chair out, and then got up.

Something stopped her. House and Foreman had entered her office. Foreman was talking a mile a minute, he was panicked, it seemed; House was simply standing there, looking at her.

"Got a minute?" House said calmly.

Cuddy made a face, swallowed, and then nodded. "Whatever it is, say it quickly."

"He wants you to give him permission for a toxoplasma gondii treatment, but the patient might not even have it. He's going to die if we-" Foreman stopped yelling to say this.

"He'll die if we don't," House interrupted loudly, pursing his lips in a know-it-all manner. "And I don't believe I asked you to speak for me."

"House, you can't treat him for an unconfirmed parasite. We need to do a biopsy, and now."

"Won't be quick enough." House said.

"Well we could give him one last MRI, ANYTHING to-"

"WON'T BE QUICK ENOUGH," he interrupted obnoxiously.

"Cuddy, you can't let him do this," Foreman said.

House turned to Foreman. "If we don't do something, the patient will die within the next five hours. He's a vegetable for crying out loud. A fucking vegetable!"

"You don't know everything, House. He doesn't have a parasite!"

"I happen to know that if we leave a dying person alone, they _die_. Haven't you worked for me long enough to know that when I'm this desperate for something, the treatment will usually work-"

"HOUSE!" Cuddy said loudly, and both Foreman and House stopped and looked at her. Foreman's expression was expectant; House's was more hesitant. Cuddy looked disgusted. "Standing around yelling about it isn't going to do a thing. Just. . . do whatever you need to to make him better. Give him the treatment."

"But, the patient-" Foreman started to protest.

"NOW," Cuddy said sharply, and then walked around them and out her door. She couldn't stand it anymore. If she stayed, she was going to vomit right in front of both of them. She could feel both sets of eyes on her as she walked out, but she needed to leave. She made her way through the hallways as quickly as she could in her stilettos, keeping her head down the whole way, nearly bumping into an assistant carrying an espresso. She reached the bathroom, pushed the door open, and then lowered her head into the sink and lurched, thankful for the isolation.

She spat when she was done, rinsed the sink, and then gave a shaky sigh. She felt much better, although parts of her hair had fallen from her barrette in her frenzy and hung around her face. She didn't care. She turned around, fixed them hastily, popped a mint into her mouth and exited the bathroom.

When she opened the door and walked into the hallway, House was standing there.

He was a fair distance away, but he was standing, leaning heavily on his cane, his head toward the floor. . . looking up at her. He was studying her. She knew that look- he only held it when he was intrigued; trying to figure something out. Her heart jumped for a moment as her eyes met his. She stared back at him. Blue met blue. And then she looked away, pretending not to have noticed him, and walked back to her office.

* * *

Later that night, when an exhausted Cuddy was heading out the door, she dropped her keys. With a sigh, she arranged everything she was holding in her hands, leaned down, picked them up, and then pushed open the door.

A hand reached out and stopped her.

"Saved the patient."

Cuddy turned her head and met House's gaze.

"Good," she said softly.

"I was wrong. He didn't have a parasite. Thirteen figured it out at the last moment and cured him."

She swallowed, and then looked away uneasily, pretending to busy herself with putting things back in her purse. "Well, you saved him. You did your job, House. It doesn't matter who was right," she deflected.

"I was wrong," he repeated, looking at her, searching for any sort of reaction. "You should have stopped me."

Cuddy ceased moving and met his gaze for a third time that day. He was looking at her expectantly, inquisitively, a hard expression on his features. She opened her mouth but couldn't find anything to say. Instead, she closed it, turned around, and walked out the door.


	7. Optimism

**Author's Note: **_Thanks so much for my reviewers. I may not have a lot, but that doesn't matter, I love writing anyway. For the ones that do take the time to review, you guys are awesome. I know you guys have a lot of questions and like I keep saying, they will be answered. But to answer one, yes, Cuddy does have Rachel even though she is expecting.

* * *

_

"Rachel, Rachel! No, that's mommy's pape-"

It was too late; the toddler had already pulled the pile of files sitting on Cuddy's table onto the floor.

Cuddy closed her eyes frustratedly, clenched her fists, her nostrils distended. She opened them and looked down at the mess, and then at Rachel. Her daughter, now looking curiously at the scattered files, tore her gaze from the papers and looked up at Cuddy. She smiled.

Cuddy's emotions softened at Rachel's expression. Toddlers would be toddlers, she supposed.

"Whatever, I hadn't particularly wanted to read them _anyway,_" she confessed. The truth was, Cuddy hadn't the energy to scold Rachel. She was tired all of the time now. When she wasn't sick or working, she was sleeping. But the fact that she was going to have a baby within a few months was finally sinking in, and she was growing more accustomed and fond of the idea. Her fears were diminishing slightly, as well as her morning sickness.

A month had passed since House's patient had been saved. She was almost four months, and it wouldn't be long until she began showing obviously. She was slender; there was already a tiny bump in-between her hips, but it had been there ever since her third month. Never-the-less, she had begun to wear her more loose-fitting clothing- for the first time in her life, she regretted not owning more sweaters. At the hospital she sat or carried files in front of her whenever she could help it. Thanks to her careful behavior, nobody questioned her. In fact, besides House, nobody had really seemed to notice a thing.

She was slightly more worried about the fact that the baby didn't seem to be growing at a normal rate. But she knew that the average was just a number, and that it was different for every woman. Additionally, at her last appointment, a week ago, the baby had still been alive.

Still, she bit her lip every time she reached down to feel the same sized bump.

Sometimes she felt weak and tired, sometimes she felt pissy and agitated at everything that moved, and always, she felt hungry. It was a new experience, and even though it was rather annoying, she embraced it better than ever before.

"So, Rachel," she said, reaching down to pick her up. She stammered slightly at her weight- she wasn't a newborn anymore. "What do you think about having a brother or sister?" Though Rachel wasn't talking yet, she _was_ making noises, and Cuddy did enjoy conversing with her.

Cuddy stopped when she was halfway standing, however. A pain had rippled through her abdomen up to her arm, and it had hurt. . . badly. She gave a small gasp and waited, but it subsided as quickly as it had come. She stood up fully, balancing Rachel on her hip.

_Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. _

She bit her lip, carried Rachel to her room, and then put her down.

"Be good," she said simply, a new fear arising in her, and then left, locking the door. Rachel cried for a little bit, but Cuddy knew she had to ignore it. She shook her head and forgot about the previous incident- the pain was gone. She needed to get the papers cleaned up. Rachel was at the age where she needed attention 24/7; she got it from the babysitter, and Cuddy gave her as much as she could as well- but it was exhausting, juggling a clingy child and a demanding job all of the time.

_"Great timing, Lisa,"_ she thought to herself as she bent down and began to pick up her files. While piling them up, she had time to think.

This was her first day off in who knew when. She had had to go in for a morning budget meeting, and then miraculously took the rest of the day off, by choice. Four months prior, she would have stayed at work. She knew that much about herself. But now that she was pregnant, she wanted the time to relax. With such a high risk of miscarriage she needed to take it easy. It was weird to her; unlike her to put work on hold. She knew it wasn't her normal character.

_House knew that too._

Cuddy bit her lip at this thought. Here she was, thinking about _him_ again. Why? Because he was the only one she worried about. She didn't want him to know; she wanted him to be the last to know- but he was going to know whether she liked it or not. The question was only when. She wasn't going to let him win and figure it out for himself. She _wanted_ him to still be stumped when he found out. She wanted the upper hand.

God, she was so childish. Why was she getting involved with House's games? No. . . in fact, she was creating this one herself.

"What am I doing?" She muttered aloud with annoyance; she had placed a few papers in the wrong file. She moved to fix them and then resumed her thoughts.

She should tell someone. She had passed the first trimester; that was the scary part of it all. But she had passed it. Her chances seemed better now, and she wasn't sure just how long she could go on being the only one knowing. Since nobody in the hospital except for her doctor had known of her condition, her bathroom trips (which were still frequent) and sick days were becoming harder and harder to explain.

But once she looked at it, she knew she should tell House first. She didn't want to. Suddenly, the thought of standing in front of him and uttering the words "I'm pregnant" terrified her. She expected his gaze, his confused look, his inquiring. It scared her. Why did it scare her?

It was simple. He was the one that had told her she would suck at being a mother.

And even though she had Rachel now, being a mother still didn't come naturally. She didn't always know what to do. She was too programmed to act as the fierce administrator boss lady, and she feared that this side of her was too unfit to raise a little kid. She didn't know how to scold Rachel; she always feared she would be too harsh. She didn't know how to do a lot of things. She still doubted her ability. And she didn't need House shoving it in her face.

Then she remembered Wilson. Yes, Wilson; House's companion, his only companion, at that, and his confidant. He was also _her_ confidant, but truth be told, she knew he was ultimately loyal to House. He was trustworthy, supportive. . . and if she told him, she wouldn't have to face House. He would most certainly find out through Wilson.

It was frustrating to her. So what if House didn't know? House was House, Wilson was Wilson. It shouldn't matter so much, but it did.

And so she decided, putting away the final paper, that she would tell Wilson tomorrow.

She smiled to herself softly. She didn't fully understand the reasoning for it; perhaps imagining telling someone of her condition just confirmed it. She was having a baby. She hadn't failed yet, and-

Another pain. It was strong, and it made her stop. She gasped again and reached down to clutch her stomach. She was still crouched on her floor, so she stood up, keeping her hand against her abdomen.

Her heart started racing; what _was_ that? It couldn't possibly be labor. Had she done something when she picked Rachel up? Pulled a muscle?

Was she. . . no, she wouldn't think about it. She bit her lip and looked down.

A loud cry from Rachel's room distracted her. Her daughter really was getting fed up with being alone. Cuddy sighed. "I'm COMING, Rachel," she said, and then walked to her room. She opened the door and found Rachel sitting on the floor with a rather pouty looking face. She gave a small, sideways smile and bent down.

"Okay, Rachel, you're going to have to keep it down, alright? I'm trying to-"

Another pain; the worst one yet. Cuddy grimaced and gripped at her stomach again. Her heart was still racing, and there were terrified butterflies within her.

She rubbed her stomach tenderly, closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then spread her legs apart to look at the floor beneath her.

There were spots of blood.

At that moment, everything became a blur. Nothing made sense to her anymore. Rachel was fussy; sitting a few feet from her. Her clock downstairs struck four. She didn't realize any of these things. They didn't make sense.

When she became slightly realistic again, her first thought was to get to the hospital. If this baby had any chance of survival, she had to have proper treatment; proper equipment.

She needed hospital equipment. But she couldn't drive to Princeton and leave Rachel by herself.

She hoisted herself up and rushed into the other room, grabbed her cellphone, and did the first thing that came to mind; frantically dialed Marina. Fear makes even the smartest people stupid.

"Come on, come on, pick up," she panicked. The phone rang about seven times before her nanny finally picked up. It was loud wherever she was, and her voice was not heard very well.

"Hello?" She said.

"Marina!" Cuddy said loudly. "I need you. Now."

"Wha- I cannot hear you, Lisa," came the thick accent from the other line, followed by some static.

"Where are you? How quickly can you get here?" Cuddy yelled.

"I will get there as soon as I can," Marina said, sensing the urgency in Cuddy's tone. "It may be an hour."

Cuddy hung up, breathing quickly.

An hour? Why an hour? She brought her hand up to her face and closed her eyes.

_"Bring Rachel with you, just bring Rachel with you,"_ she thought. Why had she been so dumb as to dial Marina in the first place? Yes, she had to just bring Rachel with her. She would explain everything later.

She was bleeding heavily now, and another cramp rippled through her body. She grimaced, collapsed against the wall, and then slid down it slowly.

"I need progesterone," she whispered. She scanned the room wildly.

No.

It was too late for that. It was a false hope.

When she looked down at the spots of blood on the floor, she knew, with a sadness in her heart, that saving the baby was a false hope too. It wasn't just that the baby's heart had stopped and could be saved if she got to the hospital. Even if so, she couldn't drive to Princeton in time.

Not even if Marina had been here prior to everything.

The fetus was dead and passing through her naturally. As a doctor, Cuddy knew there was nothing she could do.

* * *

"You are sure that you are fine?" Marina asked, standing in the doorway. The light in the hallway was on, but the rest of the house was dark, including Cuddy's bedroom.

She nodded. "You're excused, Marina. Go home, get some rest."

Marina stood for a moment, unconvinced, but she sighed and nodded; she must do what she was told. "Okay. I am sorry, Lisa."

She walked out. Cuddy heard the closing of a door a minute or so later. She was alone. Rachel was asleep, Marina was gone. She was alone.

Her heavy blood was cleansed, she had had no need of a D&C, (she could tell, being a doctor that worked so closely with hormones), and she was merely spotting now. The laborious parts of her miscarriage were over. She hadn't even gone to the hospital; she had handled everything by herself while Marina watched over Rachel. Her pain was gone. Well, her physical pain. At a loss for words, almost a loss for thought, she climbed into her bed, pulled the covers over her, and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest.

There was nothing more she could do.


	8. Crawling Back to Me

**Author's Note: **_I love you guys. Thanks for reading. Just thought I should point that out.

* * *

_"Goodbye, Rach," Cuddy said tiredly, kissing Rachel on the head. She was ready for work. . . well, as ready as she could be, at this point in time, and had to leave in the next five minutes if she wanted to get there on schedule. Rachel was seated at the breakfast table in her usual spot; Marina was rummaging around the kitchen. She stopped after Cuddy's words and looked at her, a sadness in her eyes.

"Lisa, are you sure you don't want to take the day off? Perhaps a few days? I will be fine, perhaps I could even take Rachel with me, give you some time. See the zoo animals, yeah?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I told you. It's done and in the past, alright? So please stop bringing it up and let me do my job," she mused, beginning to rush around the room. Jobs don't wait, duty doesn't disappear, just because your personal life is in shambles. Cuddy knew that better than anyone.

Her pager was going off while she was talking; she checked it quickly and became absorbed. "I'll call you at noon to check up on everything," she said, now halfway out the door. "Be good, Rachel."

Her drive to the hospital was a blur. It wasn't raining, but the sky was gray. It seemed that these days the sun was never luminous. Almost ironic, really. Cuddy glanced in her rearview mirror and caught her own eye for a second. She looked away quickly, too afraid of her own reflection.

* * *

When she got to the hospital, she felt more at ease. This was routine, and it made it easier to concentrate- easier to take her mind off of everything. She knew she should be home on bed rest; she knew she shouldn't be stressing herself out with work, but honestly, work was the only thing she had that made her feel just a tiny bit better.

She glanced around lazily when she stepped into the lobby. Nobody had really noticed her entrance, except for her "assistant" nurse (who was always bugging her to get a real assistant). She walked up to her and placed a hand on Cuddy's shoulder.

"Hey, you. I know it's not my job, but some guy from AtlanticNet wants to speak to you. He's on your office phone. I told him to hold."

Cuddy looked up at her; she had been talking to the lobbyist. "You answered my office phone?"

"Hey, it kept ringing. I was doing you a favor."

"Alright, alright," Cuddy said, walking into her office. She could feel a few eyes on her, but that happened every day. It seemed that everything was normal.

Perhaps it was best that she had never told anyone at work. That was really all she needed them for. Work. Anything else, anything at all on a more personal level, could make her values divert; make her do a mediocre job. And that was the last thing she wanted.

"Hello?" She said into the phone, lowering herself cautiously into her desk chair.

* * *

At around one, Cuddy glanced up toward the hallway and noticed that a few case files were present on the desk. Nobody seemed to be bothering with them, and that irritated her. That meant that it was her job, once again, to bring one up to House, and she hated having to go out of her way to see him when she didn't have to. With a sigh, she pushed herself out carefully, as her body was still weak and ached slightly, and walked to her office door. She pushed them open, hastily grabbed the most interesting looking case file, and walked to the elevator.

When she reached the second floor, the walk to the diagnostic's wing seemed long. She didn't know why, but she was weary of it. When she stood in front of the door, she hesitated, clutched the file to her chest, and then continued on in.

House was inside with his team. He was standing by the white board; the rest were seated around him except for Foreman, who was getting himself a cup of coffee. House had been talking, but he stopped and looked toward the door when she entered, as did all the others.

Everyone's eyes made Cuddy a bit self-conscious, but she ignored it and walked up to House. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You've been neglecting the cases," she said, shoving the file toward him. House didn't peel his eyes from her's, however; he merely placed his hand against the file, resisting.

"Thirty year old male, trouble swallowing, random coughing fits, had a heart attack a year ago. I read it."

Cuddy looked confused. "Thennn. . . why didn't you take the file?"

House smirked. "I was timing you."

She pulled away, still perplexed. She folded her arms. "_Timing_ me."

"Two hours and twenty seven minutes, it took you, to realize that I hadn't done a thing about the file. Obviously you're concerned with what I do or don't do, so that's a rather interesting gap of doing-nothing-ness for Lisa Cuddy. I mean, come on, are you slacking?" He asked, putting his lower lip out in a pout.

"Seriously, I don't have time for your games right now," she said tiredly, sincerely not wanting to deal with House or any of his antics for a long, long time. "Just do your job."

"Already did. We've got a few things narrowed down. SPEAKING OF WHICH," House said, suddenly raising his voice. "JEW, ASS-KISSER, FORETEEN. I believe I asked you to run some tests."

They all looked at him with annoyance, but took the hint; they began to exit, one by one. Thirteen stayed until the last second, holding the door for her fellow colleagues. She gave House and Cuddy one last glance, and then left.

"Wow, your dominance really turns me on, bye now," Cuddy said dryly, and then turned to leave. House, however, grabbed her arm. Startled, she looked back at him, her eyes full of question. Once again, blue met blue, and this time, they stayed connected.

"What?" She asked after a moment, and then yanked her arm from his grasp.

"Just how long are you planning on keeping this act up?"

Cuddy opened her mouth, closed it, and then shook her head. _"What?"_

"Oh, don't play stupid. It's so obvious, Cuddy. You're missing days, you're having monthly appointments, and you're wearing a shirt so loose it could be used to shoplift."

Cuddy looked down at herself quickly, realizing with a slight pain that she had indeed dressed herself in a loose, black sweater. But it wasn't for the reason House had thought. Not today.

She looked back up at him. "Don't even get started-"

"How far along are you?"

"I'm not pregnant," Cuddy deflected quickly, becoming hostile.

"Got any names picked out? Personally I like Winona or Caleb, but if you're going to not find out the sex, I'll save you the trouble and find you a unisex name. How's Casey sound? No, maybe not. Casey Cuddy sounds like a confused transvestite. Dylan? Hey, maybe you could borrow Thirteen's real name, I'm sure she wouldn't mind-"

"I'm NOT pregnant, House," Cuddy said, desperately trying to think of something to divert the conversation. "Room 302 has been complaining about your tim-"

"Who's the father? Is he tall? Handsome? I mean, God, he must have a pretty impressive sperm count to impregnate YOUR environment. No offense, of course. IVF, right? Sperm donor?" House quipped.

"House," Cuddy said, closing her eyes and walking away toward the window of the room. She refused to look at him and instead stared out at the sky, placing an arm on the sill. "I'm not pregnant."

House said nothing for a moment, and then spoke. "Sure you're not. You just visit the bathroom seven times a day to open the Chamber of Secrets."

He had figured it out; she had to tell him.

"Not anymore."

She didn't look at his expression, but she could tell he was waiting for her to go on.

Cuddy gave a heavy sigh. She didn't want to tell him, but it was too late; there was no turning back now. "I. . . was. I lost the baby."

She looked back at him now; he stared at her.

"I. . . I started to ovulate irregularly a few months ago. At first I thought nothing of it, you know, just something that happens sometimes, but then I realized that the hormonal imbalances in my body were caused by. . . upcoming menopause. I didn't realize until then that I still really want a baby of my own. . . so. . . I didn't really think about it, I just kind of did it. I plunged into it. I started IVF treatments again, got my mom to help me with picking the donor, and pretty much succeeded."

House moved his head toward the floor but did not divert his eyes from her's; giving her that expression he only gave when he was intrigued, as observed previously.

"Then I.. didn't."

With those words, Cuddy looked back out the window, biting her lip. She didn't feel as though tears were coming, or even close to coming, but she just wanted to be on the safe side. She didn't know why she was explaining herself to him. He had no business with her, no right to know. Something had just compelled her to tell him.

"Who gave you the injections?" House asked quietly; he had been the one to fulfill this role a few years prior.

"Dr. Miscolski, from the maternity ward. She did the procedure, too."

They both fell silent for a moment. Cuddy again focused on the sky, trying to forget that he was standing behind her, staring at the back of her neck. It was hard. Why had she explained everything to him? All's she really had to tell him was that she had used IVF and miscarried. . .

Footsteps. Advancing toward her. . . no, they were turning. The door opened, the sound of a cane hitting against it sounded, and then, the room fell silent; the only sound she could hear was her own breathing.

Cuddy turned around. House was gone.

She wasn't sure why she was surprised.


	9. I Don't Need Your Help

The next few days were somewhat lighter than the week prior. To everyone's delight, except for House's, of course, (what would a few rays of light be to him?) a few hours of sunshine graced the streets of Princeton in the morning. The conference room made sure that this sunlight felt welcome and was to be acknowledged by the board; the blinds were cracked open a bit, permitting some access.

It was a Tuesday morning, and Cuddy was seated at her normal spot- in the middle. This conference was going to take hours and it was a boring one. A few days ago she would have thought it important, but her mind kept wandering elsewhere. She spoke only when spoken to, and when she was sure nobody was watching, her eyes wandered around the room.

She was depressed, but it was more a numb sort of depressed than anything. She didn't know what to feel nor do with herself; that was her definition of depression. She was still sickly; she had lost a bit of weight and became more boney, and she also noticed a more sunken face when she had the courage to glance at her own reflection. But she didn't do much about it. The only thing she wanted to do lately was sleep. Work and sleep.

"Lisa Cuddy, do you have anything to add?"

Cuddy ceased looking at her nails and snapped to attention. Everyone was staring at her with a lazy expectance. She had known what was going on, for although she hadn't seemed to have been, she was listening and did take in information. She did this at a lot of her meetings, especially ones she knew would not matter as much.

"Well, in my opinion, the diversion between the students and the staff is a problem, but-"

"LISA CUDDY!" Said a sudden, rather cheery sounding, albeit familiar voice. Cuddy's heart skipped and she immediately stopped talking; her eyes glazed over with annoyance as quickly as she the voice registered. Everyone turned around to look in surprise as Gregory House entered the room. He gave them all a nonchalant glance, as if barging in as such was the most normal thing in the world, and then grinned at Cuddy. "I have an emergency."

"House, can we do this another time?" Cuddy asked through clenched teeth, giving him the biggest "i-will-kill-you" expression she could muster. This was the first time she had even spoken to him in days.

"Nope! Emergency awaits." He pursed his lips together, looking at her expectantly. "Seriously. This is an emergency," he deadpanned when the only thing she did in response was leer.

Cuddy was busy, and House knew she was busy, but she also knew that if she just went to see what he wanted, things would be over sooner. It would be much less painful than having to argue with him in front of everyone. With a great sigh, she pushed herself out of the chair, turned to the staff, and gave an apologetic shake of her head. "I'll be back in a minute." House gave a sideways smirk as she passed him and pushed the door open; he swung around and left immediately afterward.

Cuddy crossed her arms when they got into the hallway. "Well?"

"Not here, Cuddy. God! Must you be so into public woohoo? I'm trying to maintain my dignity!" He yelled, making a few passerby nurses roll their eyes. Cuddy arched both brows and ignored his teasing outburst; she was used to them, and, quite frankly, didn't care enough to indulge in it. She crossed her arms, tapping the fingers of one hand against her bicep. House motioned with his head down the hallway. "My office."

"Why your office?" Cuddy sniped in defiance.

"Alright, go back inside. Do your thing! I'm sure you're just dying to hear about the student-teacher relationships of the place," House said manually, twirling his cane in one hand. She watched him in silent protest. "Go ahead. I'm probably just being an idiot."

"Probably," Cuddy retorted, but hesitantly began walking with him.

When they came to House's office, it was empty. Cuddy was slightly suspicious of his motives at this point in time; she scanned her surroundings and pursed her lips. "This better be quick and important, or I _will _make you do anal swabs in the clinic all day. And you know I will."

"Relax," he said in a fake, sappy voice as he rummaged through his desk. Cuddy said nothing, she had attained to watching him curiously. He pulled a needle out and handed her a vile of liquid. "Hold this," he gave her no time to question and filled the needle, and then looked at her. "We'd better get started. Drop your pants."

Cuddy was dumbstruck. She was holding the fertility drugs that she had been taking months prior; he was volunteering to give her injections again. Despite her best efforts and solemn demeanor as of late, she smiled. It was a very soft, quick smile, but it was one none-the-less.

House. Gregory House, the man who was supposed to care about nothing other than himself; the man who wanted all of Cuddy's attention on him and only him. The man who had grown enormously jealous after her adoption of Rachel last year, and who had her convinced at one point in time that she would fail as a mother. He was going to help her get pregnant again. Was it the work of Mayfield, had he changed? Or was this kind of selflessness buried deep inside him all along; was he just simply acting out of character? Either way, Cuddy had not the faintest idea of why House was eager to help. He wouldn't have done this before. Plenty of times she had tried and failed to become a mother, and not once had he reacted in this way.

House had his own way of handling things, and she never understood them. At these thoughts, suddenly, her happiness dissipated into frustration.

"No, House."

"You said that last time," House said with little emotion. "Didn't stop you from robbing some random guy of his sperm and compromising your bladder control a few years later."

Cuddy closed her eyes for a moment, took a quiet breath, and then opened them. She shook her head. It was true, over the past few days, she was sure of at least one thing: she was not meant to be a mother in the traditional way. She was done trying, and she needed to learn to accept it, no matter how painful it was. The dull abdominal ache from her miscarriage served as the ultimate reminder.

"Well, I'm done. Besides, House. I wouldn't get pregnant this quickly after a miscarriage."

"The sooner you start, the better it is for you. Your biological clock is ticking," House said pointedly, with a smug expression on his face. "Turn around so I can stick this needle in Sir Mix-A-Lot's favorite body part."

Cuddy shook her head. "I'm going back to the meeting now. Whatever stunt you're trying to pull, I don't like it."

House gave her an open-mouthed expression. "I'm trying to_ help _you."

"You can help me by putting the drugs you nicked from the gynecology ward back and leaving me alone," Cuddy said angrily; clutching the vile she was still unawarely holding onto. It was pressed up against her palm now.

House said nothing, and Cuddy took that as her cue. She turned to leave.

"So. You're just going to give up?"

Cuddy stopped, opening her mouth in an angry manner of protest.

"Just like you do with all things you can't handle?"

"How dare you," Cuddy warned, turning around and walking toward him. She had heard this statement one too many times in the past few months. "I have been trying to have a baby for years. I had sperm donors lined up from left to right-_ you _rejected every one. I had three implantations; a miscarriage. You told me I would fail as a mother. And I still KEPT trying. I finally got pregnant. Now I'm not pregnant anymore, AGAIN, and I'm going through it alone, AGAIN, and you're telling me that I just give up?" She said in disgust, moving her head toward her body, looking at him with contempt.

House said nothing; Cuddy was too angry to stop.

"And you, House. Why the hell do you think I gave you time off? Why the HELL do you think I sent you to Mayfield and then allowed you your job back after you were a registered lunatic? What, you think just because I won't relent to you and give you everything I have despite all you've done, I've given up? Are you out of your mind? See, THIS is why there is nothing between us. Nothing could ever be between us!"

House's gaze shifted to the floor, and then back at her. He looked confused and slightly thrown off. "So this is about you now, huh? This is about me wanting you for myself?"

"Because you do, House. Don't deny it. There is no other explanation for why you act the way you do."

"Yeah," House said with a nasty snark of a grin. "THAT'S why I'm deciding to help you, because I want all your attention on ME. And OF COURSE the explanation couldn't be that you just have fucked-up issues of your own. It's all on me, because that's easier."

"Screw _you_," Cuddy said softly, piercing him with a dagger-filled gaze. She could be vicious when she wanted to, just as he could. She had no idea if she would regret this later, but she was too angry to rationalize now.

House said nothing, he merely narrowed his eyes at her. Cuddy turned around again, and this time, she walked out, looking toward the floor. The numbness she had been feeling for the past few days had finally cracked. Her vision was blurred. She felt a tiny tear escape from the corner of her left eye, but the world would end before she let House see _that_.

She only had had one tear, that was all. No big deal. She wiped it away as soon as she entered the hallway; walking back to her meeting. Her hands were clenched together so tightly she swore one could have been bleeding, especially since she was pushing the vile up against her. . .

She stopped. The vile. In her enraged frenzy, she had taken it with her accidentally. Opening her hand slowly, she looked at it for a moment, then at the door to House's office. She swallowed, made her decision, and walked back inside.

House was still standing in the same spot. His face revealed no change after her entrance; he was staring at her, not in an angry or hurt way, but in a curious way.

She ran her tongue over her lips once to wet them; her mouth had grown dry, and she pushed the vile toward him with no other words. House stared at her, took it slowly, and then grinned. It was a smug, complacent grin that accompanied the inquisitive, interested look in his eyes. It made Cuddy even more irritated. She looked anywhere but at his face; anywhere but into his eyes. She lowered her gaze and waited for him to say something. He didn't; she turned around. Halfway through her motion, however, he spoke, in a voice so completely normal- so completely unaffected by everything she had just said- that it was almost as if it hadn't even happened.

"Why do all of our fights end with you saying screw you? You think that implies something?"

Cuddy closed her eyes for a moment, stopped walking, and then opened them. She walked out. What he had said didn't loosen the tension she held within; she didn't come close to a smile, or even a nod. But as she was walking back to her meeting, she noticed that she wasn't clenching her fists anymore.


	10. The Lonely Connection

Little by little, Cuddy made her recovery. Every day her body felt a bit stronger. She started eating again. She still wore loose things; she didn't want anybody to see just how thin she had let herself get. One morning in February she had mustered up enough strength to go out for a run. When she arrived back inside, adrenaline high, the sweat dripping down her neck- she saw Marina and Rachel sitting on the porch. Rachel's eyes lit up when Cuddy appeared, and with a happy expression, she reached for her.

Cuddy smiled back for the first time in days and picked her up. "Hi, Rach," she said softly.

At that moment, she knew things would be okay. Her emotional battle with dealing with her miscarriage started giving way. Rachel's soft, baby skin and her content expression as she balanced her on her hip reminded her that she still had a daughter, no matter what happened. She was one step closer to acceptance.

"She missed her momma," Marina said, a twinkle in her eyes. "I did too."

* * *

Cuddy slowly returned to work. She had never left physically, of course; emotionally was another story. Somehow, though, her drive was returning to her. She tightened the reigns she had temporarily loosened and became the boss that everyone knew and respected; the boss that knew how to handle the hospital. She was no longer an apathetic, empty shell. She was still sad, of course, but it was fading with time. She would always be sad. But every month, things hurt a little less.

She had received a page asking her to report to the surgery wing. It wasn't marked urgent, but she hurried along anyway- it was almost time to head home. The knowledge that she would have to pass House's office on the way didn't escape her, however. She almost took the long route to avoid this, but decided against it in the end. It was childish. She had no reason to avoid him, things weren't vicious between them. They simply hadn't talked for a while.

Despite her best efforts, her curiosity won, and on the way, she slowed her pace when she passed his office. Not enough to be noticed, but enough to give her time to observe. House was inside, alone. He was sitting at a table, his cane at his side, looking blankly at the floor. He looked lost in thought. Cuddy swallowed and then carried on; he was probably busy with a case.

She reached the observatory and talked into the intercom. "Alright guys, make this quick."

"You need to get Dr. Chase to stop slacking off and doing his job," a surgeon answered. "We're the only ones available right now, and Chase could be here, but big surprise, he's somewhere jerking off! This could have been done hours ago."

"Dr. Chase, unfortunately, no longer works for you, so I don't think you have any right to complain," she said simply. "He isn't slacking off, Stan. He has cases to do."

"Not right now he doesn't. There _are _no cases."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were the eyes of the place."

"Maybe not the eyes, but I do have ears and I _do_ remember Dr. Taub excusing himself yesterday with the statement "office hours are over and no cases are in progress."

Cuddy was slightly taken aback and fell silent. House hadn't been working on a case, then. What was so. . . ?

"I just passed the diagnostics wing; House looked pretty busy to me," she said, arching her brow.

"Yeah well, maybe he had something else on his mind. Can you PLEASE do something about the available surgeons?"

She shifted her gaze back down to the surgery and nodded. "Do your job. Don't put his ear where his liver goes," she sarcastically quipped and then walked out, a newfound interest in the diagnostic's wing blooming. She made her way back, but this time, stopped in front of House's office. She strained her neck and tried to see inside. He was still in the same position, his expression numb. He hadn't noticed her. Or perhaps he had, but he wasn't paying her any mind.

Cuddy had no idea why she did it, but she opened the door. She slid inside carefully and walked up to him, an inquisitive look upon her features.

"You have no cases today."

"I know," House said dryly, not looking at her.

"Go home," she said after a moment, not understanding.

House didn't answer her.

She swallowed and then studied him; she knew something was wrong. At that moment, that was all she was aware of. She had completely disregarded their fight a few weeks prior. She just wanted him to be okay.

"House?"

He still refused to look at her; still refused to say anything. And yet, Cuddy somehow knew what he was feeling had nothing to do with her.

"Don't you have therapy today?" She asked, realizing that he indeed did.

"Nope," he finally lifted his head and looked at her. "I dropped out."

Cuddy didn't ask why right away, but she grew worried.

"You're not-"

"No, I'm not back on drugs, no, I'm not pain free, I will never be pain free."

"Okay. So. . . go _home._ Or go to therapy."

"No," he said again. "I'm done, it's done nothing. All's they are are a bunch of manipulators that fill people with false hope. They take away everything you have and convince you it will help you live a better life. And then you believe it." He was opening up to her in the only way he knew how; through bitterness. She simply listened, encouraged him to go on. Now that he was no longer attending therapy, she suspected he was branching out and using her instead.

But House said no more; he closed his lips and looked away again.

So he _was_ hoping to change? That was all too much for her to hear, and it put any words she might have said on hold. She didn't question him, it would be no use. He didn't want to say anything else. She didn't force him to go back, and she didn't tell him he needed to go home. She pushed the boss side of her to the side; she pushed the resentment she held for House aside. Instead, she reminded herself that at her core she was a human, and, silently and slowly, reached out to touch his hand.

It was very soft at first. She poked her pointer finger out and tapped it gently against his knuckle. He didn't pull away or resist, so she moved in and allowed two fingers to rest upon it. She looked at him with pained eyes. For some reason, when both of them were hurting, they acted the gentlest toward the other. It was as if they realized they didn't need any more bleeding.

House lifted his head and looked back at her. It was then that she realized just how close she was sitting to him; his blue eyes looked so incredibly_ real_. Her jawline was set. Suddenly, she became aware that she was no longer alone. Without another word, she blinked and broke the silence.

"House, go home."

"You know. . . you're more maternal than you give yourself credit for," House said, ignoring her. "It's really annoying."

Cuddy sighed deeply and took this as her cue- she got up, before anything happened. She didn't feel like kissing him, of course, but she wasn't so sure about him. He watched her rise, but didn't follow.

"Come on," she said. "We're going to talk to Nolan."

"Nope," House replied swiftly. "Don't want to."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. "Come on, House. You were doing so well."

"Oh, yeah, and you're definitely the one that encouraged that," House said sarcastically. "Because you kept a close watch on what I did outside of work and everything."

"Maybe I thought you could handle it," Cuddy said, crossing her arms. It was a lie, but she didn't know what else to say. She_ had _really distanced herself from him.

"Cuddy, I dropped out weeks ago," House said smoothly. Cuddy swallowed. . . she hadn't known this. She felt stupid. That was, of course, his intention.

"Well, then either you're going back to Wilson's apartment, or you're going downstairs to help with clinic," she commanded, shaking it off and pointing her index finger toward the hall in order to emphasize her point. "I'm not going to have you sitting here doing nothing."

"Fine," House said casually, getting up and leaning on his cane. "I'll just go sit on the sidewalk outside of Wilson's house."

"What is so WRONG with Wilson's house?" Cuddy inquired, giving him an austere look.

"Since when do you care?" House snapped back.

"I'm trying to help you," Cuddy replied in a sincere tone, and fell silent immediately afterwards. House stared her down. She realized that she had just echoed his words a few weeks prior and pursed her lips, looking away in the awkward silence that followed. House finally made a move; he limped past her, grabbed his coat, and slung it over his shoulders.

"Fine. I'll go tell a few stuffy nosed kids to beat some sense into their parents-"

"House," Cuddy said firmly, making him shut up. He waited for her to continue; she sighed, contemplated on what she was about to do, and then made her decision. "Why don't you just come stay at my place."

* * *

Somehow, in some way, House had agreed, and Cuddy hadn't pulled back on her offer. And now they were on Cuddy's doorstep, unlocking her door, and stepping inside.

Her house was quiet. It looked as though it was one of those nights that Marina had already put Rachel to bed. That was fine; House wouldn't have been bothered to help out, and she would have been stuck with the responsibility of_ two _children. She painfully remembered that this would have been the case anyway had she stayed pregnant, but shook the thought from her mind as soon as it came. Now was not the time to make herself sick with sorrow.

"Marina?" Cuddy asked, wandering into the kitchen just as House was taking his jacket off. He seemed preoccupied with something else, so Cuddy left him alone and followed the lights of the house until she found her babysitter on the back patio. "Hey Marina," she said breathily to the woman sitting on the lounge chair, reading an interior design magazine and sipping from a mug. "Rachel asleep?"

"Oh, yes, she was very tired," Marina said, looking up.

"Ah, who isn't. How about you go home yourself?"

"Lisa, you are home so early," Marina said, growing confused at the realization.

"I know, but you're excused."

"Why do you want me _out_ so badly?" She teased.

"Trust me," Cuddy said, lowering her voice. "You _reallyyyy_ don't want to meet the guy I brought home."

"A man! Oh my goodness- do you mean-"

"House, Marina. House."

"Oh," Marina said, the excitement dissipating. "Well, best of luck to you, my dear. I will require an extra hour tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sure thing, just as long as you're here when I have to leave," Cuddy said. "You're free to go."

Marina nodded, got up, and made her way out of the house. Cuddy didn't know if House had even noticed her, but it didn't seem as though it would matter if he did. He would either ignore her or make a rude comment with the mood he was in. A few moments later, however, the closing of the front door confirmed her suspicion- Marina and House hadn't noticed one another.

He was quiet, too quiet. Cuddy stepped slowly through the corridor, past her kitchen, past her guest room, and into the living room, where she finally found him hovering over her fireplace, studying the pictures on her mantelpiece.

"You know," he started, somehow sensing her entrance. "The beehive kind-of went out of style after 1969. Unless you're Amy Winehouse," he said this without facing her, looking at one particularly old photo with amusement.

"Maybe I liked being eccentric," Cuddy replied dryly, fixing the pillows on her couch out of habit.

"Not sure if eccentric is the right word for you. Domineering, maybe. Perfectionist, maybe. Narcissist, yes. Eccentric. . . eh. I'll give it to you."

"I had a life before you came into it, you know. Maybe young me was eccentric."

"Young you liked being the best in show. . . and one night stands with cantankerous bastards," House said as Cuddy came up to stand beside him. At these words, she caught his glance and gave him a challenging expression, a small side smirk appearing on her features for the first time that night. He was deflecting, like his usual, obnoxious self. . . he seemed okay.

For some reason, Cuddy still found no reason to question what was between Wilson and him. If it was important, she would find out in due time. If not, it wouldn't matter. Instead she took comfort in knowing that House was here, safe, and not by himself. Anything he would pull would be better than being unsure of his status; she could deal with him for one night.

Suddenly, Cuddy's phone began ringing. Without excusing herself, she stepped out and left House alone.

"Hello?" She said when she reached the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

"Cuddy?"

"Oh, hi, Wilson," Cuddy said lazily, switching the hand in which she held the phone with.

"Hey. Have you seen House?"

"He's here with me," she said calmly. "What's up with him dropping out of his program?"

"He did that? Oh, God, Cuddy. I don't know. But he's there?"

"Yes. Just for tonight. And it doesn't-"

Suddenly she stopped to listen. _ "James, who's that?" _Cuddy narrowed her eyes, trying to recognize the voice. "Is that. . . a woman?" She asked him after a moment.

"It's Cuddy, hon- what? Yes. Oh, yeah. You know my girlfriend Sam."

"You mean your _ex wife_ Sam? What is she doing there?"

"We've kind of been _seeing_ each other. You um. You didn't know?"

Cuddy stopped; it was becoming more clear. House didn't want to be with his best friend if his best friend was with a woman. It would remind him that he could easily lose him. . . and perhaps, even if she figured he didn't want love, it would remind him that he was, at the end of the day, still alone. She blinked a few times before continuing.

"No. I didn't."

"Alright, well. As long as House is alright."

"He'll be fine. I'll make sure he doesn't jump the border," she said. "Goodnight, Wilson."

Wilson trusted her. "'Night, Lisa."

They hung up, and Cuddy slowly put the phone back on the receiver. She understood now why House hadn't wanted to go home.

* * *

"And I was hoping you'd cook something," House teased, but Cuddy was in no mood.

"I'm tired, House. Get take-out if you're that hungry."

"Nah. It's no fun if I don't get to enjoy the juices of your labor."

"Funny, that almost sounds sexual."

"Only if you want it to be, partypants," he said, giving a wink.

"Please go be horny somewhere else," she said, turning off the porch light. House said nothing more, and Cuddy entered the downstairs bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, doing everything in her power to subtly avoid looking at her reflection.

"Guest room is down the hall and to the right. You're lucky. If it was upstairs you'd be on the couch."

"You have a guest room? When's the last time it was used, 1982?"

Cuddy began taking her earrings out. "My mom used it a few months ago."

A silence fell upon the room; it wasn't an awkward silence, just a silence. House was still standing at the doorway, and Cuddy did her best to ignore it as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She figured he was just waiting to come in. She finished and turned the faucet off. She began walking out.

"Thank you," House suddenly murmured, making her stop next to him. The sincerity of his words had shocked her. They looked at each other; their eyes met in a deep gaze of attempted understanding.

"Don't mention it," Cuddy interrupted after a few long moments, and then broke the gaze, walking down the hallway until she heard the bathroom door close.

She stopped when she got to the guest room he would be staying in. She looked behind her; nobody was around. She walked into the room. It looked lonely and depressing, as if nobody had used it for years, even though she hadn't been lying, it _was_ used just last month. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was broken, she needed to fix it, but it always escaped her mind. The dresser had a slight coat of dust on it, and she reached out and slid her hand along the surface.

She really was a lonely person.

She sighed; her chest rising with the heaviness of guilt, and then falling slowly. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment. Slowly, with slight remorse, she reached down and fingered her stomach gently. It was flat and felt like an empty shell. Of course, it had always been flat, but now it felt especially so. She ran her hand slowly up the curves of her body; her hip bone poked out a bit more than she remembered. She stopped before she got to her ribs and pulled her hand away.

There was a small disturbance in the atmosphere in the room. Cuddy sensed it. With a startled gasp, she turned around- House had come up behind her and was now standing extremely close. So close, in fact, that she could feel his hot breath on the crook of her shoulder for one quick moment.

"Stop doing that to yourself," He said in a slow drawl.

"Doing what?" She replied quietly.

"Pretending like this isn't weird."

Cuddy looked up at him. The darkness of the room made the shadows rest on his bone structure in a dark and looming manner; but somehow, it was seductive.

"What?"

"Me. Being here. Why are you such a martyr?"

Cuddy swallowed. "Why are you such a messed up jackass?"

"You're messed up too."

They both fell silent. She was looking at him, he was looking at her. Slowly, House lowered his gaze. Cuddy wasn't sure, but it seemed as though he was studying her upper lip.

She couldn't explain what happened next, it just did. Instead of following her logic, she followed her intuition. She broke the ice and moved forward. She kissed him. It was a soft, gentle kiss. . . more for comfort than anything else. House was taken aback at first; Cuddy wasn't sure she was quite confident herself, either. But when she pulled away, they both stared. . . it was almost as if he was longing. . . as if he wanted more and was disgruntled by both the face that the kiss had occurred and that it had ended. Suddenly, House leaned forward and kissed her again- roughly. The bristles on his chin rubbed against Cuddy's cheek, but she ignored it.

House was kissing her full on- he didn't kiss just her top lip, or just her bottom lip. He kissed her _lips_, and it made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. In almost record time his tongue was begging entrance; Cuddy granted it immediately. Their tongues interlocked and they began exploring each other's mouth. He was almost exactly the way she remembered him from the last kiss they shared a year back; rough, yet somewhat restrained at the same time- letting her do most of the work. He tasted slightly of bourbon, but there was no trace of Vicodin this time. She moaned against his lips and he wrapped his arms around her back in response. They moved slowly backwards, but they didn't have to go far before Cuddy was rammed against the dresser. The top of it was pushed into the small of her back, and it hurt. She grimaced and buckled her hips toward House's thighs; he got the message and backed up. In fact, he did more than that. He brought his hands to the front of her black blouse and worked at the buttons as quickly as he could; Cuddy helped him, blind with lust. They removed the shirt and then let it fall to the floor. She was now dressed only in her black lacy bra and gray skirt; House, still fully clothed, was kissing her, letting his hands wander up and down her frame. He stopped, rested them on her side. He was tender when he felt how thin she was. Her ribs were more prominent than before and the way his fingertips felt, rested gently against them, almost made him question his motives. Was it him that was wearing her down? Of course her lost pregnancy probably had taken a toll on her body, but along with worrying about his feelings for her every step of the way. . . did he cause her to relent?

A gasp from the back of her throat caused him to move his hands. They slid up her back and rested against her shoulder blades. Simultaneously they moved toward the bed; House picked her up slightly and practically threw her down onto it. She laid against the bedpost; her legs folded up toward her chest. House removed his shirt before getting down on the bed himself. He rested his palms on the mattress and crawled above her, kissing her sloppily. She pushed her lips against his in an almost angry way, gasping and giving small little moans every once and a while. Her hand was grabbing onto his neck; pulling him toward her.

House's icy gaze moved down toward her legs when she kicked her shoes off. With a newfound adrenaline rush he backed up and experimentally slid his hands up her skirt, feeling every bit of thigh he could. Cuddy watched him with ease and then reached down to grab his hand- it was wandering closer and closer.

"Take it off," she hissed. "Stop teasing."

"A woman of action, are you?" House mused, almost grinning; he had remembered that about her. Within moments, Cuddy was in her panties. But she seemed to feel left out and instead of letting House remove her undergarments next, she moved forward and unbuttoned his pants, helping him out of them. It took a moment for House to get them off and it was not a graceful move- but he did. Once they were removed, Cuddy grabbed his neck and smashed her mouth against his lips once more, groaning, begging him to satisfy her in the only way she could. Her demeanor had taken a turn and she was getting extremely aggressive. At this point, neither of them were thinking about why they were doing any of this. They just were. House was questioning the hallucinatory factor of everything- but he remembered that he had not taken a Vicodin tablet for a year, and decided that even if this was a dream, he would enjoy every moment of it until he awoke. Cuddy, at this point, thought of nothing other than getting him inside of her. The thing about Cuddy and sex was that it was the only time she acted purely on instinct.

House's hands resumed their journey; they moved up and down her body, but it wasn't long before they stopped at her panties. He placed one hand on the inside of her thigh; the other he rested on the laces of the clothing. Before he continued, he stopped to look at her. His eyes may have been lustrous had it not been for the overpowering look of sadness within them. House was tired, worn down, and vulnerable. She gazed back down at him, her eyes blinking slowly with the anticipation of what she was feeling. . . and the understanding that she held for his grief. She was the same. House knew that, Cuddy knew that. That was, ultimately, the reason they were doing this. Deep down their hearts could bleed no more; they longed simply for understanding.

House was still waiting, seemingly, for her permission to advance. They were not as young as they used to be and it seemed as though this was the turning point from twenty years ago, the last time they had been in bed together. Along with age, they also had more maturity resting upon their shoulders. House was making sure they would have no regrets. Cuddy's eyes flashed; in that moment he knew she wanted him to continue.

Slowly, House peeled off her panties. She closed her eyes and laid back, waiting for him to make a comment- any sort of witty, sarcastic comment meant to lower her self esteem. It would be just like him. Instead, a soft noise came from the back of his throat. . . almost like a purr. She opened her eyes and instead of seeing him reach between her legs, saw him crawling atop the mattress; he was going to get back on top of her. He kissed her roughly as soon as she opened her eyes, however, forcing her to squeeze them shut once more.

She pushed his mouth away from her's after a second, looking at him with slight annoyance and full inquisitiveness.

"You have my underwear off and you're paying more attention to my face?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I was getting there," he answered in a husky tone; sure enough, when she looked, his boxers were lying on the bed next to them, his erection fully visible. Cuddy smirked lazily and lifted her neck to kiss him once more. He undid her bra strap and threw the last piece of clothing to the side.

"Couldn't wait to get those exposed, could you?" Cuddy hissed again, teasing even in the essence of this moment. "That why you saved them for last?"

"You need to shut up so I can do you properly," House growled, his hands moving behind her neck and down her back, gently tracing the outline of her spine. Despite everything, he couldn't help but notice again that Cuddy was thin. The fingers over her backbone served as not only an exploitative method but a way to get a good feel of this. Concealed by the shirts she wore; it gave her a more fragile, relenting look. A look she would have disapproved of. On the outside, fully clothed, she looked the same as she had always been- dominant, tough, bossy; only once everything was removed could House see she had had some struggles of her own. Cuddy, unaware of his present thoughts, shivered at his touch- he knew how to work his hands.

He lowered himself into her. He was surprisingly gentle and Cuddy could not help but wonder if he was being cautious. Once his member penetrated her, however, she lost the potential for this thought and felt instead as though she was about to lose control. He followed suit, it seemed, and things got rough fairly quickly. With a shaky sigh followed closely with a moan she clawed at his neck, wrapping her arms around it, and then moved them to his chest and let them stay there. They began moving together, finding their rhythm. It happened fairly quickly despite House's leg; this could only be attributed to the fact that both of them remembered little things about sleeping with the other. Cuddy was lost in a trance, halfway between erotic pleasure and total horror. But she would not give this up, no matter what. It felt too good, and House seemed to be enjoying himself as well, because although she kept her eyes closed for sex, she could hear small, occasional grunts that escaped the back of his throat.

Cuddy's thigh brushed against House's hip and she squeezed her muscles together, giving a disgruntled scream in the progress. "MmmMMHOOOUUSEE," she spat loudly to the ceiling. She threw her neck back once more to release a few whiny moans. She was approaching her climax. They were _really_ being louder than she intended, but she couldn't help herself; it felt so damn good. House had her completely beneath him when they had started, laying down in the missionary position. . . but now they were riding up the bedpost- she was almost sitting, her legs spread so House had easy access.

"Makeeee meeeee," Cuddy commanded softly, her hair matted with sweat; a few strands sticking to her forehead. She was no longer speaking in complete sentences. She arched her body toward him once again and clenched as an orgasm rippled through her and she moaned his name through parted lips- keeping her eyes closed, her expression lost. House, being a man of less vocal expression during sex, clenched his teeth and gave a small noise instead as she tightened around him; he closed his eyes with her and did his best to stay in sync.

It was the highest she had been feeling since. . . well, as long as she could remember. And it was because of House. As every muscle in her body contracted and she panted with difficulty just to keep her breath, she forgot about everything. Rachel was asleep a few rooms down; she forgot about this. She had work early tomorrow; she forgot about that. But most importantly, she forgot that she would have to face the whole building and be his boss tomorrow for a brief moment. Instead, she moaned his name once again through clenched teeth, her shaky breath catching in her throat as he pulsated inside her.

Cuddy's orgasm finally declined and her breathing, still labored, became slightly more calm after a long minute. She opened her eyes and met the immediate icy stare above her; his eyes were intensely watching her, even though she had not been looking. Cuddy gave a tired smile and finally relaxed. They both began to subside and House slowly retreated from her. It had been quick sex and not the most experimental either of them had had, but it didn't matter. There was no explanation for this in the first place; it was to be expected that they should be unsure.

A quickie. A quickie for comfort. That was what had just occurred. . .

She moved away and laid down on her side, trying to catch her breath, her exposed chest heaving up and down. House did the same except he did not lay on his side; he was on his back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head. Cuddy, gripping a corner of the bed covers tightly with her fingers, felt like they should be talking, but she was much too tired now, and instead of asking him what the fuck they were doing, asked in a quiet tone if he could shut the door.


	11. Lavender

The morning came too quickly for Cuddy's liking. When she awoke, she didn't get up right away. She didn't speak, roll over or turn to look at him, fearing the slightest movement would make him realize she was up. Instead, she laid silently for a moment, trying to pull her thoughts together and make sense of things. She refused to face him beforehand.

First off, she accepted what had happened. She was feeling alone, he was feeling alone. They shared a mutual feeling of pain and that was why they had connected last night. But she still didn't know how the logical part of her brain felt about it all. The only thing she knew she felt for sure was anxiety. Did she feel regret or remorse? The weird thing was she wasn't sure. But why the hell wouldn't she be?

She sighed loudly and stretched her arms above her head. House was still quiet; perhaps he was asleep. She arched her neck and looked. She was thrown off a bit when he wasn't there. The bed wasn't made, of course, so he had been sleeping there at one point, but he was gone now. Was he already up? Confused, Cuddy sat up and scanned the room. It was getting lighter, but it was still filled with quite a bit of darkness from the dawn. House wasn't in sight.

Raising both brows and then letting them fall again, she kicked the covers and slipped off of the side. On her way out of the room, she grabbed a bathrobe hanging on the wall and wrapped it around her body; she was still naked and hadn't wanted to go through the trouble of finding her bra and panties right now. She wandered through the hallway and turned on Rachel's bedroom light, lifting her out of the crib. Rachel seemed tired but not discontent, and settled with resting her head against Cuddy's shoulder as she busied herself with getting her ready.

After a few moments, Cuddy headed into the kitchen, placing Rachel in her chair, who now began rubbing her eyes and gave a small whimper. "I know, you're hungry," Cuddy sighed, putting some coffee on and then taking the baby food out of the cupboard.

She was looking for a spoon when she heard a rustle of movement from behind. She turned around quickly and saw House entering the kitchen; looking scruffy and tired, as if he had slept in a very uncomfortable position. He was dressed in his boxers and the shirt he had been wearing yesterday. Pretending as if everything was completely paradox, he yawned and gestured toward the coffee pot with his head.

"That hazelnut?"

"Yeah. Decaf."

"Why decaf?" He asked, disgruntled.

"I haven't finished up the can yet," she said, shutting the cupboard door and looking at him sternly. "Where were you?"

"On the couch. I figured your pathetic self-loathing would be easier if you woke up alone," House said, seating himself at the table across from Rachel. Cuddy pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't retort; instead, she stood next to Rachel and spoon-fed her while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

House and Cuddy said no more to each other for a good ten minutes. Rachel finished her breakfast and sat contently while Cuddy placed the spoon in the sink and moved to pour the coffee; she got two cups, one for her, and one for House.

"Sugar?" Cuddy asked. House shook his head, but she put a pinch in anyway, having a feeling he was just testing her to see if she knew what he liked. She was right; she could tell by the grin he gave when she set his cup down in front of him and then moved to sit down herself.

"I think we should talk."

"Okay. WOW, have you seen Jessica Alba's knockers lately? I mean, they always were good, but now they're just… they're like CUDDY'S breasts, only with a more natural. . . they don't need an underwire. Oh, wait. Oops. Sorry, still in Wilson mode."

"You think we have nothing to talk about?" Cuddy asked, ignoring his deflection and tilting her head to one side, a chastising look on her face.

"I think talking about what happened would make things weird, and I kind of just want my coffee. And pants. Have you seen those? Never mind, too close to the subject matter."

"House," Cuddy snipped, warning him. "Last night. You can't say that that happened for no reason."

"Everything happens for a reason," House said lowly; his voice changing into a more serious tone, looking down into his cup.

"Well?" Cuddy pressed. "What do you think, then?"

"I think," House said, lifting his head but looking not at her, instead at the wall to the right of them. "I think that you make a very good pity-fuck."

Cuddy closed her eyes and gave a very dry laugh, shaking her head. "You think that's all that was, House?"

"If I thought it was anything else, I'd probably be disappointed."

Cuddy, shocked by his honesty, stopped laughing and watched him with surprised eyes as he got up and limped out of the room. He went into the living room and started getting his stuff together. She followed him and leaned against the doorway as he did so, holding the coffee mug with both hands.

"I'm your boss, you're an employee," She continued. "You know? I mean, we cannot let this get in the way of our judgments. Nobody at the hospital needs to know about this, not yet, anyway-"

"YEAH," House said in a fake humored voice, grinning. "Wouldn't want to trash your amazing reputation."

Cuddy swallowed, a strict expression appearing- a sign that her tolerance was wearing thinner. "I know you don't like talking, House, but I really think we need to."

"Why? So you can tell me that you just want to be professional and will no longer be providing me any more services? Rats, I was hoping we would get to the handwork stage before that happened, oh well. Okay, bye now. Wouldn't want to be late, my boss would be furious."

Is that what she wanted to say? Cuddy blinked and frowned as he made his way past her and toward the bedroom. She pushed her tongue into her cheek and let him go for a minute before deciding to follow him once again.

"So you think that we should just. . . forget this ever happened and move on?"

"As long as I didn't give you AIDS or another baby, whatever floats your boat," House said, finally finding his pants and pulling them on with some difficulty. "Although I can't promise you that naked visions won't dance in my head for a few weeks."

They looked at each other after these words. No matter what he said, she could tell now that he wanted to be with her, perhaps if only for a little while longer. He had admitted that for the first time ever in his life. Cuddy gave a sad smile, and House returned it with a sideways smirk of his own.

"You don't think a relationship between us would be completely messed up?"

"No, I do," House said. "Then again, what we did last night is pretty fucked up too."

"I was alone, you were alone. It fit, we took advantage of each other. It's over with."

They both fell silent, as if they were in agreement, and looked toward the floor.

"How do we take advantage of each other? I thought that was only one way," House asked, giving her a confused expression. Cuddy bit at her lip some more, she didn't want to be the one to ask. . . but a new question was bugging her.

"Do you. . . want anything more to come out of it?"

In a moment, they had switched places. Now Cuddy was the one asking for more- House was the opposite. She bit her tongue as soon as she asked, tasting the metallic sensation of blood. She really needed to stop biting her mouth when she was nervous.

House looked at her for a moment, and then let his eyes fall toward the wall. "Like I said. If I did, I'd be disappointed."

Cuddy swallowed and tucked her tongue in her cheek once more, it was the only way she wouldn't bit her lip. She took a careful step forward, toward him. She stopped, waited. Then she took another step until she was standing next to him. She was silent for a minute. He didn't move his head but he did give her a side-glance.

"The keyword in that sentence is 'I.'"

House, somewhat confused, looked up at her, furrowing his brows. When his eyes met Cuddy's, she smiled softly. House didn't smile back.

"Stay away from me, Cuddy," House finally commanded, his voice low and almost unsure. "I'm not what you need."

Cuddy's expression dissipated into a concerned one; she blinked a few times, but said nothing in reply.

"I'm better off alone."

"You really think that, House? Or do you just want that?"

"Why would I want that?" He snapped, looking at her now. "It's just what needs to happen. I would make you miserable, and you would make me miserable."

"Don't we already do that?" Cuddy asked calmly. When he didn't answer, she placed a hand on his arm. He eyed it with contempt, but she did not relent.

"Christ, sleep with a woman and she can't separate the physical from the emotional-" he quipped, but both knew he didn't mean it.

"I know you have feelings for me, House. You hallucinated sex with me for God's sake."

"Yeah? So did every other doctor in the place. Blame your damn hips."

Cuddy couldn't believe she was now the one trying to convince him that they needed a relationship. But she wasn't thinking clearly. . . maybe her instinct mode had overlaid from the previous night. Whatever the reason, she was persistent. The only thing she knew is that she couldn't let House go immediately after this; this time, it was real, they had really slept together, and this time he had come the closest to ever admitting he could feel somewhat deeply for her. If she let him go and forgot about it like they had twenty years ago, she could only imagine the damage it would do. Not only to her, but to him.

Suddenly, she decided what she was doing was pointless. . . stupid, really. No matter how long Gregory House had spent in that asylum, he would never want a traditional relationship. Stacy was the only one he would ever come the closest with; Cuddy didn't match up to this. She would never be able to give him what he wanted, especially not as his boss. House and Cuddy didn't have a romantic connection. They had a miserable one. She was deluding herself; she was full of hormones and emotion, and House was right, he was better off alone, no matter how much it hurt deep down.

She let go of his arm and backed up slightly.

"Alright. Go home and don't be late for work, then."

Basing relationships off of sex never worked, anyway.

House blinked, nodded to her, and then began walking toward the door. Cuddy watched him, her blue eyes filled with a soft knowing. She wanted to stop him but the feeling was fleeting. She let him go.

Suddenly, he turned around. "You haven't showered yet," he said.

"I. . . no, I usually wait for Marina to get here."

"Rachel's downstairs."

". . . Yesss," Cuddy said, looking at him quizzically. She didn't approve of where this was going.

"How long does she stay happy in that high chair?"

"She fell back asleep, I'd say she's fine for a while," Cuddy crossed her arms. "Why, House?"

House scrunched his lips together, gave her a wide eyed expression, and then shrugged. "We could compromise."

Cuddy finally got his innuendo. When she did, she was angry. She wanted so much to say no and send him out; to slap him, even kick him in the bad leg. He was just being a pig. He wouldn't allow himself to commit to her, oh no, but he would allow one last quickie before they cut all ties. What a man.

She wanted so much to refuse; to yell at him and express all of the feelings she knew she SHOULD feel.

Instead, she smirked in a catlike manner. He smirked back.

"Hope you like lavender scented conditioner," Cuddy purred, and then made her way past him and toward the bathroom, sashaying her hips.


	12. Not Letting Go

_**Author's Note: **Sorry this is so short. Just a filler. And sorry that I positively suck at smut. It's really one of my weak points._

* * *

Cuddy had been confident all up until she had torn her clothes off and stepped daintily into the shower. He hadn't been inside before her, but he was about to enter, and Cuddy couldn't help but notice how the water trickled off of her body; it was much different than the way it used to. Her skin was so fair toned at this time of year; this would be easier to notice in a light room. Her hands felt weak and they trembled sometimes. She inwardly scolded herself at her iron deficiency and resolved to start taking multivitamins again.

She instantly regretted giving House the green light as she realized her insecurities. But it had been too late to worry or go back. House had slid the glass door open and stepped into the steam just moments after she had thought about this. She had closed her eyes, but soon, her tense muscles relaxed, and she began to shower like normal.

"Stop staring at my ass and wash your hair," Cuddy said smoothly, running her hands through her own. House, who was standing behind her, grinned haughtily.

"You can't be serious, it's blocking my view," he retorted, and then reached out to pinch it. Cuddy jumped and reached behind her to slap his hand away, but he caught it instead and held her by the wrist. She narrowed her eyes and turned around to face him, the water spraying in her face. She blinked and rubbed some of it out of her eyes before looking at him.

When she did, he smiled down at her. "God, how did you get to be so hot?"

"You know, the way the stinging water in my eyes blurs your face _almost _makes you look like Mel Gibson," Cuddy said in response. House responded by reaching down and tracing a circle around her breasts; she continued to watch his face as he did so.

"These ARE better than Alba's," House admitted, and Cuddy raised one brow.

"Glad to hear it. Now I'm going to be late." With this, she turned around and reached for the soap. She could pretend that she didn't like the compliments all she wanted, but truth be told, he was making her feel a million times better about her body.

She began rubbing the soap over herself. House was silent; she could feel his eyes on her. She ignored him and caressed her own thigh slowly, teasingly. The water dripped off of her and onto the floor, running through her toes. House suddenly reached out and touched her hand.

"Let me do it."

She relaxed and gave him the soap. He began washing her body himself, running the bar over her waist, back, and thighs. After a few moments of this, Cuddy found herself totally distracted; totally submitted to him. He was wonderful with his hands no matter what he was doing with them.

House moved closer and kissed her neck roughly. He held the soap still, pressing it ever so slightly into her shoulder. Cuddy closed her eyes and sighed through her nose at this; she arched her neck away from his head, allowing him to place a few more sloppy kisses on it. He pushed his pelvis against her behind; she could feel his erect member against her wet skin.

House proceeded. He dropped the soap and snaked his hands to the front of her body. Cuddy sighed more loudly, in her way of telling him to take it easy, but the mischievous House ignored this and instead probed a finger up inside.

Cuddy's breathing became softer and she stood perfectly still, closing her eyes, allowing him access. She relaxed her body and let herself fall back to rest on him. Once again, the feeling of intense pleasure he gave her by using his hands returned. She opened her eyes and let them roll to the ceiling as he felt within her; she then let them wander to his face. His head was resting on her shoulder and his smirk was extremely naughty; his eyes gleamed with smugness.

"Rowr, my fair Cuddy. You are _wet._"

"We're in a shower," Cuddy responded, but her tone faltered as he caressed her with his finger; it made the sarcasm come off as a pathetic deflection. She let a small, breathy sigh escape her throat, despite her best efforts, and House's grin became wider. He ran his pointer finger up the front of her and trailed her fluids onto her hip bone, smearing it, tracing circles. He used his other hand to grope his own thigh; it was getting sore from standing in one spot for this amount of time.

Cuddy growled and let the water trickle down her shoulders. House buried his face into her wet hair in response and then moved his hand down again, massaging her gently.

"Mm, damn it, House," Cuddy said in a husky tone, keeping her eyes closed. House's grin returned.

"Your orgasm face is showing."

"Shut up," she said, and then placed her hand on top of his, following his movements.

After a few minutes of more probing, Cuddy snapped back to reality. She finally lifted one of her thighs and rubbed her foot against her shin, and House pulled his hand away.

"What's wrong, mistress?" He teased lowly.

Cuddy didn't answer. Instead, she turned around and threw her body against him in one quick movement; making him fall back against the shower wall. They had almost slipped. She kissed him viciously as they regained their footing, her arms around his neck. He kissed her back and groped her behind; the water ran down their figures and made it difficult to stay standing. He was taken by surprise but had no complaints.

Their imprints on the glass stayed for a good twenty minutes after the water was turned off.

* * *

Cuddy stepped out of the shower, the white towel embracing her petite frame quite snugly. She lifted it up for a moment to ensure that she wasn't dripping onto the floor too badly; she wasn't. House, on the other hand, followed suit, not bothering to dry off. Instead, he had a towel wrapped hastily around his waist. Cuddy narrowed her eyes with disapproval as he coated the bathroom floor with puddles.

"Don't slip, that would suck for you," she taunted somewhat nastily, but House merely smirked.

"Are you always this hostile after sex? It makes me kind of frisky; we can take another, if you want."

Cuddy ignored him and instead dropped the towel to dress herself. House gave an obnoxious whistle.

"House, you've seen this five minutes ago," she rolled her eyes.

"You got a problem with compliments?" He asked, pulling on his own clothes. Cuddy ignored him and blow dried her hair, straightening it afterward. House settled with watching her do this, and even though Cuddy refused to acknowledge his presence she could see his reflection behind her in the mirror.

She turned to him after she was done applying her make up.

"Alright. I'd say it's about time for you to leave. I don't care what happened, you better get to work on time or else," Cuddy said.

"Or else _what? _ No Cuddy-orgasm-face ever again?"

Cuddy looked at him fiercely, but didn't answer. He looked back and then decided to change the subject.

"I'm never on time."

"Well, be on time."

House grinned; a snarky light in his eyes. "By the looks of it, we might both be late."

"It's six o' clock," Cuddy said calmly.

"Yes, but if we moved to the-"

"Go home, House," Cuddy interrupted, shaking her head. "Get ready for work, come in late. Save lives, be an ass, bounce your ball around. But we are not having any more 'quickies' while the hospital waits for me to take care of the insurance crisis."

House gave her a slight grin; he had known her answer anyway- it was just fun to push her buttons.

Rachel could be heard from the kitchen suddenly; she gave a cry, apparently sick of being in the high chair. Cuddy moved quickly to attend to her daughter. She was almost out of the bathroom when House grabbed her by the wrist once more. She looked up at him, waiting for him to say something, a slight meekness in her eyes. She was truly vulnerable because she could feel his own seriousness.

"Lets do this again sometime," House said, in a tone so low Cuddy swallowed.

"I thought you-"

House didn't let her finish; instead, he moved in to roughly kiss her. Cuddy kissed back but didn't take the stern expression off of her face; after a few seconds, she was the one who pulled away, looking at him with an irritable confusion.

"Go take care of your kid," House murmured, and then walked out. Cuddy stood, watching him leave for a moment, and then shrugged her shoulders. She walked into the kitchen and lifted Rachel out of the chair, holding her for a moment while she got her thoughts together.

Seems as though he didn't want to give her up so soon after all.


	13. Harley

**Author's Note: **_My next few chapters might be a little slower as I've started soccer and that takes up a lot of my time. But no worries, I am in no way going to abandon this story. Once again, thank you for your reviews. They inspire me.  


* * *

_

And do it again they did. In fact, House showed up at Cuddy's every night for two weeks. And every night they had put the guest room to good use. . . sometimes the back patio. . . even the couch, which was used one night that they were too exhausted to get themselves ready but not exhausted enough to have a go.

Wilson, of course, grew heavily suspicious. What was supposed to have been one night turned into three. . . four. . . fourteen. House dismissed it whenever he was asked, and Cuddy simply shook her head at his prodding.

"House still spending the night with you?" Wilson had asked one morning as they shuffled through the hall together. Cuddy, slightly distracted by the file she was carrying in front of her, nodded.

"And Rachel," she said calmly.

Wilson gave a slightly irritated expression, as if this was so irrelevant it was almost pointless to say, and continued.

"He's avoiding me. He can't share."

"House has a hard time with sharing, you know that," Cuddy answered in the same bored tone, still paying more attention to the file than to him. "He couldn't even share me with a baby."

"So he _did _tell you it was because of Sam?"

"We don't talk about things," Cuddy said, in truth.

There was a silence.

"Are you sleeping with him?" Wilson asked at last.

Cuddy did not change her expression or falter at the pressure of answering this question. She was a damn good liar and she was twice as good about not opening up to anybody unless she needed to. Stopping to lean over a cart and hand the file to a nurse, she answered Wilson. "House and I sleeping together is ridiculous."

She hadn't given him the answer, nor had she lied to him. She had merely stated what was known.

It _was _ridiculous that she was sleeping with House.

As loosely as the term fit the situation, things progressed normally for a few more days. However, Cuddy soon found herself able to pay less and less attention to him. One night, she had forbade him to step in the house because Rachel was fussy and had a fever. She told House she would see him another time and sent him home. The night after that, she had refused to sleep with him because she was ovulating and couldn't risk anything after such a painful experience. House had nagged her about birth control but she had confessed to still needing to go back on. She hadn't the strength yet.

House stopped coming for a bit. She wasn't sure where he was sleeping, but she assumed it was back at Wilson's, because he came into work fine every morning. She avoided his gaze when she could help it, but they often exchanged curious glances in the hallway. They stopped speaking; the only time they did was for medical purposes. Other than that, it was almost as if they had had a hook up in high school and didn't know how to deal with the festering awkwardness.

Cuddy was frustrated by his sudden disappearance. It was as if he wanted to sleep with her or have nothing at all. She felt used and foolish, especially for indulging in it for so long. Of course, it wasn't like she WANTED him taking up space in her house. . . but it did make her angry the more she thought about it. She had always assumed House thought of her as somewhat of a friend.

Then again, he was House. Besides Wilson, he had no friends.

* * *

A Wednesday evening, while Cuddy was reading through some files in her outbox, House finally rapped on her door. He had already let himself in, of course, but he was notifying her of his presence. She lifted her head and gave him a look of expectance.

"Yes?"

"Are you free after work today?" House asked, pursing his lips together as if this question had little to no face value.

Cuddy gave him a slightly confused look and sat forward. "I… I'm a single mother, I'm never free." A silence; somehow both of them knew this was not exactly a no. "Why?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to get some dinner. Or something."

Cuddy grinned slowly. Finally.

"Ahh. I see. You sleep with a woman and THEN ask her out on a date."

House gave a contemplative nod. "I prefer to approach things ass backwards. Makes 'em more interesting."

"You know what would be INTERESTING is if you played by the rules for once in your life. Analyze that."

"Analyzing yourself is no fun," House said, smirking. "Soooo… are you?" He pressed, one more time.

Cuddy couldn't imagine where he would take them to eat. A bar, a steak house? A stripper club? All three of those had equal likeliness. All of her anger suddenly dissipated; everything faded now that she knew House was interested in maintaining some sort of contact with her. She just wanted things back to normal.

At least, she thought.

"You don't have to take me out to dinner, House," Cuddy said, turning away slightly to file some papers.

"I kind of do, because if I don't, you'll end up resenting me forever," House replied in a bored manner, though his expression suggested otherwise.

Cuddy stopped to look at him. She narrowed her eyes and then turned her head slightly. "Alrightttt. . . one too many soap opera breaks for you."

"I'm serious," House said.

"I don't want to eat," Cuddy deflected, in truth. "I'm not hungry. It's fine."

House tapped his cane against the wall anxiously. "Well then, at least let me take you out somewhere." He was trying painfully hard, and it showed. He was never the type to sweep a woman off of her feet and to even take her out somewhere was a stretch for him. He looked terribly awkward.

"What's the point of that?" Cuddy asked, crossing her arms and at last getting up from her desk.

House didn't speak for a moment; he simply looked down at her, stared into her blue eyes with his own.

"I don't know."

* * *

Hours later, Cuddy found herself tightly gripping House from behind as they sped down the back roads of Princeton at 70 miles per hour. The chilled March air nipped at her face; the helmet helped, a bit, but it was still cold. Despite this, the feeling of traveling at this speed left her with a great sense of. . . freedom, almost as if nothing else mattered. She couldn't remember the last time she had been on a motorcycle. Probably not since high school. It had been too long, for sure.

She wasn't sure where they were going, or if they were even going anywhere. She had just agreed to accompany House for a little while. He had pressed the issue and it didn't seem as if she would be able to go home without a fight.

She had convinced herself, of course, that she wanted to go home, but now she wasn't so sure. The feel of leather against her cheek and his unique scent as they flew by tree after tree made her feel strangely comforted.

The urban areas of Princeton had always been quiet. It was a secluded suburban place as it was, but Cuddy never really went out this far. There had been a few times in which she desired a long drive out in the isolated back roads, but when would a dean and a single mother find the time to do that?

They stopped at a gas station. House parked the vehicle in front of a pump; it leaned to the left, and slid off. He didn't help Cuddy dismount, but what had she been expecting? She followed suit and slid off to the best of her abilities in heels. A uniformed man pulled a pump out and Cuddy walked around to stand next to House. She leaned back against the station and contented herself with watching the stranger for a moment.

"Where are we going?" Cuddy asked House after a bit, breaking the tension-filled silence.

"For a ride," House mumbled, busying himself with the motorcycle. "We aren't far. I just needed to get gas."

"So. . . your idea of a date is bringing me along to refuel your Harley?" She pressed amusedly, crossing her arms.

"Well, I mean, unless you want to do some roleplaying afterwards. I could be the Harley and you could refuel me."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and shook her head. They both fell into silence for another minute, until the man finished and put the gas pump back into its place.

"What are we doing, House?"

He gave her a sidelong glance and then tore it away just as quickly. "Dear God Cuddy, you need to get that anterograde amnesia checked out."

"I'm serious," Cuddy continued sternly. "Where are WE going?"

House swallowed, but he didn't speak for a moment. Instead, he determinedly stared at the bike, rather then her, and mumbled his reply.

"I just thought it was customary in a relationship to take a woman out once and awhile. I forgot that they always tried to get crappy and sentimental."

Cuddy raised a brow. "So. . . we're in a relationship?"

House fished in his pocket and then took a sideways step toward her. He stopped beside her and studied her from the corner of his eye; an unreadable expression within.

"Sure."

House paid for the gas with a solemn demeanor. They mounted the motorcycle and Cuddy slid her hands beneath House's biceps and wrapped them around his chest.

"Want me to take you back?" House said softly- almost as if it was a growl to accompany a demeaning task.

"Yes," she commanded.

They didn't talk until they reached her property. Of course, it wasn't as though they would have been able to hear each other over the roar of the engine. House pulled into her driveway and turned the keys, cutting the engine. Cuddy slid off of the bike and then stood, waiting.

"Are you coming?" She asked.

House pretended to be confused. He looked down at his waist line, and then back at her. "Well, not yet, but if you put your mouth there or something-"

Cuddy turned around to hide her grin and began walking to her front door. House reluctantly followed her and watched as she opened her door. She dismissed Marina, who shot House a knowing glance and exited (House gave her a snide expression right back) and then made her way to the back patio. She stood for a moment, watching the dusk sky subtly grow darker.

"I've got a case," House said suddenly from behind; he was leaning against the doorway, watching her back.

"Oh?"

"And I have no idea what's wrong with the patient," he confessed.

Cuddy turned around and gave him a concerned expression. "Well, then why aren't you at the hospital?"

House blinked. "Because you invited me in and I was thinking I might get a little jiggy-jiggy? But if not, I'll just let myself out," he said, trying hard to mask his expression.

"You were the one that asked me to go out with you! You should've been working on your case!"

"And_ you_ should've been on top of the fact that I had one in the first place. Nice administration skills," House sarcastically replied with a wink. Cuddy pursed her lips.

"I have a lot of things to do; I can't chase you around all day."

"'Chase me around?' Don't be stupid, a chase between us would end in five seconds," House said, half-jokingly, half-bitterly.

"Why is it that you take everything I say literally?"

"Give me a little credit," he looked offended. "I take them sexually too!"

Cuddy closed her eyes and brought her hands up to massage her temples.

"House. Just go. Go save your patient. If you stay here, we'll be mad at each other, and you'll just wake Rachel up."

House looked at her for a moment before he spoke. "I can't. . . think there. I want to think here."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "You've always been able to think there."

He didn't answer her; he chose to end the conversation there. Suddenly, he turned around and started walking to the door, ready to leave after all. Cuddy, of course, wouldn't allow him to slack off when someone's life was on the line.

She watched him go. A sudden pang of loneliness rippled through her and she didn't understand why. But House didn't turn back or make any more banter with her; he opened the door and left.

She walked to the window and pushed the satin curtain aside with three fingers. She watched him limp through the yard to her driveway, mount his motorcycle, and start the engine. She was a little afraid that the sudden noise would make Rachel wake up, but the silence that filled the house assured her that she was in the clear.

Suddenly, she remembered what House had said and smiled tenderly. A relationship. Whatever this was, it was at least a relationship in his eyes. She wasn't sure if it was a romantic one, a platonic one, or if it even had a definition at all; but it was a relationship, and it didn't scare her. Gregory House was committed to her for the time being and it didn't scare her.

Of course, it would catch up to her tomorrow, she thought. She would have some common sense tomorrow and feel horrified at herself. She was tired and anxious and just needed a good night's sleep. And maybe a glass of wine.


	14. Drunken Lullabies

_**Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter took so long. And sorry that it's a bit rubbish. You know how every author has that one chapter that they don't like, no matter what they do to it? How that one chapter always seems so out of character to you and you can't figure out exactly why? That's this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it anyhow._

* * *

"I want you to wear a tie," Cuddy commanded gently, folding her arms across her chest, her pink blouse accenting her more healthy looking curves as of late. House grunted in reply and looked at the floor; they were standing in her office, discussing the hospital fundraiser coming up that evening.

"I don't want to wear a tie," he grumbled.

"Well, the boss says she wants a tie, so the boss gets a tie," Cuddy smirked, walking toward him. She stopped in front and looked up into his eyes, a sultry gleam upon her lips and radiating from her own. House watched her suspiciously. "And I'll throw in something later," she purred as she walked two fingers teasingly up his arm.

House's eyes shone for a moment and he raised his brows. "Seriously, bribing?"

"Always worked for you," she said, still grinning like the Chesire cat.

House grinned in return. "You have my attention. Fine. I'll wear the stupid tie."

"Good." Cuddy moved away from him and walked back behind her desk.

House turned to leave as well, but just as he was about to exit the room, he stopped and looked back at her, holding the door open with his cane. "Do nooses count as ties?"

"See you tonight, Dr. House," Cuddy smiled, gazing at him with a lazy confidence. House gave a sideways smirk and then let the door close as he limped away.

* * *

If there had ever been a more annoying donor in her life, Cuddy could not remember one. Yet here she was, talking to one of the neighboring city's biggest, most egotistical man in the state. If he wasn't so rich she would have made a beeline for the wine table and ended the conversation right there. But as the hospital administrator, she had to remain professional.

He was tall, very tall, around forty six years of age. . . and _very _annoying. His smile appeared on his thin lips one too many times; the wrinkles in the corners made it look somewhat genuine to anyone else, but Cuddy could sense that he was imagining her in a much different outfit than what she had on. His white teeth were almost _penetrating_. He looked more like he was baring them. Biding the time before he could have her.

Well, it wasn't going to happen.

"So you're quite a. . . step from the past administration, aren't you?" He asked, smiling widely.

Cuddy flashed a polite one of her own. "I uh, sure." She dropped the smile after she said this, realizing it could have been a compliment or an insult. She looked to the left. God, how could she get _out _of here?

"Oh, it's a step up, I assure you," he said in a low voice. Cuddy blinked and then forced a smile again as he looked at her. His eyes traveled quickly up and down her body- she caught him taking a pit stop at her breasts. She raised her left brow and cleared her throat, and he looked back up at her.

"So, Princeton Plainsboro- got a nice reputation, sturdy records. . . what is this whole problem with AtlanticNet I hear?"

"It will be under control as soon as I file a contract," Cuddy said softly. He smiled his god-forbidden smile again and continued to flap his gums.

Cuddy caught only the first few words and then set her mind to auto-pilot. She discreetly shifted her gaze; scanned the room.

House was late. He was always late, but this time, he was particularly late. For the first time in her life she wished he was here- he would think of a way to whisk her away. It would be an obnoxious, loud, attention-seeking way, but at this point it didn't matter; _anything_ to put her out of this misery. Of course, maybe he would just sit back, relax and enjoy the show. He loved seeing her uncomfortable more than he should, and _that_ pissed her off.

She scowled at this thought. Behind the man she could see Chase, Thirteen and Foreman were gathered around the bar; each had a martini. She couldn't find Wilson but she had seen him earlier- he was probably presenting a slideshow with the Oncology students at this point in time. Cuddy swallowed and tried to focus, but she couldn't.

House wasn't coming. He just wasn't coming. He had decided it wasn't worth the trip and blown it off. It had been known to happen. She was so, so irate right now, but there was nothing she could do other than grin and bear it.

Suddenly a glimpse of familiarity caught her eye. She studied the entrance. Could it have been. . . yes. House had slowly leaned around the corner of the door and was now staring at her conversation. Cuddy stared right back at him, her expression solid, but her mood quickly changing.

"Uhm, you know, this has been great, but I'm going to have to cut you short," Cuddy uttered suddenly; the donor looked confused as he ceased talking. "I'm so, so sorry, but my head of Diagnostics appears to be having a problem, and I'll just. . . I'll be right with you," Cuddy said, moving away swiftly.

"Wait, but I was going to . . ." But Cuddy wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her lie getting harder and harder to mask as she turned away and strode across the room, meeting House halfway and discreetly sliding out of the place.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Cuddy asked in a fierce tone as they reached the front of the building; a few dim lights from inside lit the front lawn, illuminating the cars in the parking spaces. Nobody was out here, despite the crowd inside, and House seemed quite content with himself as he dropped his cane against the side railing of the front steps and slid down to sit on them. Cuddy didn't follow right away; she stood behind him instead, rapidly brushing her hands against her arms to warm herself. A strapless dress had _not _been the best choice.

"I hate parties," House said in a distracted tone, resting his arm on one folded leg while the other sat straight out onto the asphalt.

"It's a fundraiser," Cuddy said, annoyed. "And you're required to attend!"

"What do you need me for? You just need to be here so you can impress Mr. AncientOldFapPants over there and he'll empty out his pockets for more clipboards and low-cut sweaters. The rest of us are just your little workers."

Cuddy shot him a look but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, she reluctantly sat down next to him on the steps, adjusting her red dress.

"I came, didn't I?" He said.

"Where's your tie?"

"Under my tux," House murmured. Cuddy couldn't be bothered to look but she believed him.

They didn't speak for a moment. House finally broke the silence.

"Your dress is tight," he observed.

Cuddy said nothing.

"So was your outfit today. And yesterday."

"Are you going somewhere with this? _Other _than the fact that you can see the scars of dishonesty through my clothes?"

"Nope," House said, a sarcastic hint in his response. "I'm just observing." His tone had fallen dramatically and the sarcasm was not present in this following statement.

Cuddy looked at him, but he stared ahead. She knew that he was telling her, in his own little way, that he was happy for her- happy that she was okay again. Well, maybe not happy. Happy was too big a word for House. Relieved. That was better.

They didn't speak for another moment. Minutes passed.

"You should be in there," House mumbled, and Cuddy knew he was right, but she didn't want him to be. She didn't want to be the administrator right now. She didn't want to face the rich, nose-in-the-air big time donors; she didn't want to have to keep things in order. She wanted to be alone.

"Is Rachel alright?" Cuddy asked, diverting the subject. She looked at him through the corner of her eyes; she knew he had stopped at her house before he came, because he was wearing one of her old watches around his wrist.

"She's fine," he answered. "Was watching the muppets or something. I switched it to sci fi before I left."

Cuddy became slightly livid, but the feeling fell because of her faith in Marina. "_Sci fi_?"

"Kid needs an education. Why not start at a young age?" House asked, pleased with himself.

"There is nothing educational about Sci fi."

"Of course there is," House said, looking as though her statement was preposterous.

"Machines taking over the world is educational? I must have missed that course in med school."

"Hey, at least she'll be desensitized. The real world isn't much prettier."

Cuddy said nothing but stayed in silent agreement. She wrapped her arms around her legs; now folded in front of her, pressing her dress tightly against her shins.

"You should be in there," House repeated. Cuddy sighed and then stood up slowly. He was right, and she had used up all of the free time she should have by far.

"I know."

House watched her rise, but didn't follow.

"You're just going to stay out here?" She asked, raising her brows.

House shrugged, and then nodded. "Unless you want me to give a heartwarming toast or something. By the way, I can see your bra through that dress."

Cuddy's eyes twinkled. "You're lying," she said confidently.

"I never lie. Your dress is tight and red and I know your body better than anybody at this place tonight, no doubt about that."

"Oh really?" Cuddy challenged, placing one hand on her hip.

"I knew it! You're sleeping with the bellboy."

Cuddy smirked, and then turned around. "I'm not wearing a bra, House."

Feeling quite smug, knowing that she had won an argument, she held her head high as she walked back into the building. However, her demeanor quickly changed when Wilson, who had suddenly appeared in the lobby, stopped in front of her in surprise. Cuddy stopped too; her smile faded and she bit her lip. He had… definitely heard her statement.

"Uh. . . hey, Cuddy," he said, pursing his lips together in an uneasy way and giving a wave. He cleared his throat and Cuddy swallowed, followed with a smile. "House out there?" He asked, regaining his composure.

"Yep."

Wilson nodded and squeezed past her, pushing the door open.

"Don't take too long," Cuddy said, her boss mode still in gear. Wilson turned and then gave another nod, but Cuddy didn't end the gaze she was giving him.

She lowered her voice. "Just. . . make sure he stays put," and Wilson's smile appeared.

"You have nothing to worry about."

* * *

It had only been about an hour of chatting with interns and more donors when Cuddy caught sight of House, sitting alone at the bar, drinking a scotch. Her unease grew quickly when she looked around and saw that Wilson was nowhere in sight. Lowering her brows against the roof of her eyelids, she pushed her way through the crowd and went to him.

"What are you doing now?" She asked in a low tone, stopping beside his chair. House looked back at her; he seemed sober, but everything else was hard to read. "Where's Wilson?"

"Uhhh. . . he told me to cover for him while he goes to get something for Sam. Damn, I just told you. Don't tell him I told you."

Cuddy became irate, she placed a hand on her hip and gave him a questioning glare. "So he left?"

"He'll come back," House said, more serious now as he took a sip.

Cuddy could sense his off-ness. Her anger dissipated and she became worried for him, realizing the fact that Wilson had abandoned him for Sam.

"House? Why did you come back inside?"

He shrugged and turned back to the counter. "I came to get a drink. I wanted to be in the same room as you. Keep an eye on things." He gave her a side glance. "Got an issue with that?"

He wasn't joking. The way he said "keep an eye on you" almost sounded. . . aggressive. She didn't like the tone at all; it didn't sound as though he was being affectionate. Cuddy looked at him, concerned and suspicious. "No."

She didn't have an issue with him wanting to be near her. In fact, she found that kind of sweet, especially since it was House. He had really, truly, grown fond of her, and in his own way, connected with another human being. That was a huge step for him. It was only that he seemed to want to be near her more than ever nowadays. If a problem was brewing, it was just all too soon.

Cuddy sighed. She put her hand on the back of his chair, stood still for a moment, and then nodded.

"Please don't get too drunk."

"Only if you let me come home with you tonight," House said, and then looked up at her, a naughty gleam in his eye. He seemed fine again at the thought of this. Cuddy stretched the corner of her mouth in an exaggerated burdensome expression, but couldn't help herself. It grew genuine and after a sigh, she smiled, if only for a moment.

"I feel like a prostitute. Except I don't get money, I get a somewhat sober boyfriend."

House growled. "I've been imagining taking that dress off all night," he whispered.

"Why, that's so romantic," she said thickly, shaking her head and then going back to the party. House watched her walk away, smirked, and then threw his head back and finished off his drink.


	15. Insecure Gratefulness

**Author's Note: **_To address a few questions about the last chapter that I know Jane Q. Doe had; first off, I apologize for not being clearer about the time slot. The fundraiser was supposed to be about a week or so later from their little motorcycle ride. Not a whole lot of time had passed, so I didn't really make a notation of it; I'm sorry for the confusion. And about the watch, I envisioned it to be one of those loose, silver casio watches so it wasn't too feminine- I should have described that better as well, but it was really just something to indicate to Cuddy that he had been at her house. Sorry about any of the confusion, guys! :) _

_This is probably the shortest chapter I've ever written. I wanted to make it longer, but I know that at the same time, adding things for just that purpose ruins a story. So here it is. Thanks for your patience with my slow updates, my real life has gotten busy but I still love to write whenever I can.

* * *

_March turned to April, which turned then to May as quickly as the trees budded and bloomed. Princeton looked more fresh than it had a few months prior, but every day still brought some rain and sometimes a crazy bout of sleet. Weather nowadays was random and unpredictable. When Cuddy went for her morning jog along the fair pavement in her neighborhood, she sometimes felt that this aspect paralleled so much with her life that nature was mocking her.

She was still with House. It was nothing short of a miracle in her eyes. There had been a few fights, yes. . . one break up that had lasted four days; but all in all, not a lot of problems existed in the relationship yet. When she looked at it one way, they had gotten pretty serious over the past few months. But then, again, they were as unconnected as ever and always pulled away, and the whole thing was not serious at all. Some days she felt that way, others, she felt differently. Sure, they spent most nights together. . . and sure, he often diagnosed alongside her during his free time. . . but it wasn't as though they had moved in together, or as though House made much of an effort to connect with Rachel. In fact, Cuddy had kept Rachel away from House as much as she was able to. Once or twice she had asked House to stay with her for an hour while she ran to tend to a hospital emergency, but other than that, her life was much the same.

Cuddy did notice, however, that outside of work she was seeing more of House and less of Wilson. She didn't know if it was because House was distancing himself and she was following, or if it was just her.

The latter was most likely, she thought, opening her front door; stopping for a moment to catch her breath in the cool morning air. A few birds chirped angrily from the trees above at a squirrel, and Cuddy took a moment to take in her surroundings before opening the door and getting ready to start her work day.

She had never been a social person anyway.

* * *

"Goodbye Marina," Cuddy said, leaning forward so she could talk out the car window as she pulled out of the drive. House, who was sitting in the passenger seat, moped to himself without a word.

"Have a good day," Marina replied from the porch, balancing Rachel on one hip. Cuddy smiled and electronically rolled the window up, still getting used to the feel of House's car. It wasn't often she rode in it, more or less drove it; when she was at House's they usually just traveled by bike. She hadn't much gas in her own car this particular morning, however, and though House had put up a whining rebuttal over her using his, Cuddy won out in the end.

"Oh, stop being a child," Cuddy said, addressing him after a few moments as she drove out of her neighborhood and through an intersection. "I can drive better than you can anyway."

"That's just mean," House said from his seat, looking straight ahead in his stubbornness.

"What's the big deal, anyway? It's not like I'm a stranger who will total it."

"Stranger, no. Woman, yes."

"I'm also a woman with the power to fire you," Cuddy retorted, giving him a somewhat stern glance from the corner of her eye. She knew he wasn't sexist and was only deflecting, but she didn't appreciate the comment anyhow.

House rolled his eyes but said nothing more. He stared out the window and they drove in silence.

When they were about halfway to work, Cuddy decided to break the silence.

"How's your case coming along?" She asked.

"I don't know if I'm making much progress. It doesn't seem like a fatal illness so it could clear up on its own. But I'm just. . ."

"Bugged by the fact that you don't know what it is?"

House stopped talking and stared at her. She didn't look back, but a small grin tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Maybe," he finally said, and then fell into silence again.

She was proud of him. He didn't seem quite as obsessive as usual over not knowing something. At least, not while he was with her, outside of the hospital. Which was fairly often.

Or perhaps he did; perhaps he just channeled his obsessions into her. That seemed plausible.

She didn't know. She hadn't known before now what he acted like, outside of work, while he had a case. It was all based on assumptions she had formed about him after twenty years of dealing with it.

She reached down to turn on the radio, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't in her own car. Instead of hitting the radio knob she found her fingers stuck in-between a small space used for keeping change. She was about to pull them out when she hit her hand against something and it rattled. . . it sounded like. . . no. House was watching her. She reached in farther, grasped whatever it was, and then pulled it out, her curiosity overtaking her. When she saw that it was a prescription bottle of pills, her expression became vividly shocked.

Vicodin.

"House," Cuddy said, her voice strained. "What is this?"

House sneered. "Like you don't know."

"Look at me!" Cuddy said, taking her eyes off of the road and giving him a stern leer.

"Keep your eyes on the road," House said gently, but it was without malice.

"_What_ is this doing in your car?"

"Relax. I didn't take any of it. Look at it; it's full."

Cuddy did so and realized he was telling the truth, not by just the contents, but the date, which indicated that it had been filled sometime around last year.

She looked at him again, a sympathetic and worried expression in her eyes. "House, I'm getting rid of this right now," she said, and reached over to throw them out the window.

House grabbed her arm and stopped her. "No."

She looked back at him, pulling over to the side of the road. She killed the engine and waited for him to explain. When he didn't, she raised both brows.

"Well?"

House avoided her stare and sighed before answering. When he did, it was in a quiet tone.

"I haven't taken any of it, and I haven't had a need to. I don't think I will. But it's the only thing I have any say in when it walks in and out of. . . my. . life."

Cuddy's expression was stern and austere. She glared at him, almost angrily; it masked her concern and she instead looked as though she was a teacher who had caught her student misbehaving. She stayed stone-faced for a few moments. And then. . . she softened at his words. She took a few more moments to look at him, and then, without another sound, put the bottle back in its original position and started the car again.

She understood his position, she supposed. A past drug addict needed some comfort in knowing he had some control over his life. She knew she wasn't doing the right thing, but she was doing a good thing. It was one thing she would have to deal with, having him in her life.

* * *

When they arrived at Princeton Plainsboro and Cuddy parked House's car in her usual spot, he took her by surprise by leaning over and kissing her. It was a long kiss and very out of the blue; it wasn't often that House did this kind of thing. Cuddy kissed him back, closing her eyes and savoring every moment. She kept expecting him to pull away abruptly, as always, but he didn't, making her open them again in confusion.

He finally pulled away, albeit slowly. He looked at her, gave her a silent nod, and then climbed out of the car and walked into the building.

Cuddy followed, in a better mood. He had just thanked her for understanding.


	16. Codependency

**Author's Note: **_I'm still alive! Junior year is killing me; I'm so sorry for the sluggish updates. I've got so much work to do already, so I'm not sure how fast my next chapters will be. They will definitely not get any faster, but they won't disappear, either, or get much slower. Don't worry.

* * *

_

"What are you doing?" Cuddy asked House a few days later as she entered the bedroom that night, placing her phone on the end table. She had just returned from the hospital; it had been a later night for her than usual, and House had gotten off before her. He was sitting up on her bed with his back against the wall, staring at the TV. His mind was elsewhere however; the half empty glass of bourbon on the table assured her of that.

"I'm watching an important stimulant so I can think about the possible causes of labored breathing with osteoporosis."

Cuddy's eyes darted to the screen; two Spanish girls dressed in lingerie seemed to enjoy each others' panties.

"You're watching _porn_ with Rachel in the house? And you're drinking? What did I tell you!" She snapped angrily, crossing her arms.

"_Relaaaxxxxx_. Kid's in bed. I only had to use half of the benadryl."

Cuddy's eyes widened and her nostrils gave a horrified flare.

"Oh my God, you don't even think I'm joking."

"I told you not to watch this," she panned again, her expression falling a bit.

House raised both brows, hesitated, and then leaned forward to grab the remote, flicking the TV off. He stared at her.

"Wait," Cuddy said, after a moment: realizing just then what he had said. "You don't have a case right now."

"No, but the last one contained the exact symptoms, so I just wanted to prepare myself for-"

"Oh my God, House," she cut him off exasperatedly. "You're not still obsessing over the last case, are you? The patient is fine and that's what matters. You're not going to have the answer to every one; accept it."

Weirdly enough, despite what she had led on. . . she felt relieved at his words. Finally. She had to admit, she had found it a little weird that he wasn't obsessing about the last case. Still, though. Maybe he had been, just not openly.

House stared toward the left wall. "It's interesting."

"No, it's not interesting," Cuddy said, walking toward the bed and then sitting herself down in front of him. "What's interesting is the fact that everything is changing. Wilson's out with Sam all the time, you're getting along with your team somewhat. . . you know all the brands of thongs I keep in my top drawer. . . "

"And the bottom one, under the socks," House interrupted, and then pursed his lips; a snide, pleased expression in his eyes.

Cuddy stopped for a moment and leered at him, but decided to drop it and continued. She _had_ started it, anyway. "So instead of accepting that, you obsess over some weird case that should have been put out of your mind ages ago. Let it go and deal with a new patient."

Nevertheless, Cuddy knew how House obsessed; it didn't matter what was going on in his life. He needed the puzzle, he needed the game. When he didn't win the game, he searched for a desperate tiebreaker. That was all this was. But she couldn't let him know that she accepted this part of him, especially not as his boss. That was_ not _hospital practice.

"I'm not getting along with my team," House dismissed, a few moments too late. "Chase is still an ass kisser and Thirteen's still kind of a lesbian. Well. Actually. . . I mean, it is kind of fun to see a woman appreciate my bragging about your funbags. . ."

She let out a heavy sigh, the breath catching on the edge of her lips slightly, making a short raspberry. As difficult as it was to admit, Cuddy noticed how much harder it was getting to be his boss. She was still able to, of course. It would take a lot more than some sex to blindside Lisa Cuddy; but sometimes she noticed now that she _was_ caught between her feelings for him and her understanding of reality.

But she wasn't a naive woman. She always did what was best for her hospital in the end. Nobody had any evidence of favoritism; not even when they dug deep. It just hadn't happened, and she was determined to keep it that way.

House leaned forward and kissed her neck, breaking her concentration. It was a rough kiss; sort of awkward, but it was a kiss nonetheless. He had probably disliked her silence. At first she did nothing to respond, but House kept at it; his kisses quickly grew smoother and more pleasant on her porcelain skin, and when his hand had finally snaked its way up her skirt and found her sensitive spot, she gave in.

She tried pushing his hands away as she leaned in to his lips, almost angrily. "Don't try and-" she stopped as she kissed him again, and then started once more when she pulled away, "-use sex to get what you want."

"Is it a habit for you to think I'm always trying to get something?" House said in a low voice, removing his own shirt.

"Yes," Cuddy retorted, her glare menacing as she watched.

"This time I'm just trying to shut you up."

He moved in to kiss her again. Cuddy was about to tell him that she had already been shut up, but she had a hard time pulling herself away. She then decided it wasn't worth it and relaxed her body against his as he undressed her.

He placed his hands gently on her thighs and then spread them apart, watching her with a snarky grin. He then moved his hips forward to slide himself within her. It wasn't a graceful move; his damn leg always hindered him in one way or another, but Cuddy never seemed to mind. This time, however, she stopped him.

"No," she whispered curtly. "Let me."

House, who obeyed and watched her with newfound interest, grew somewhat surprised when he realized that she was positioning herself on the other side. She had been leaning against the bed post and he had been about to lower himself on top of her; but now she was overtop of him, pushing him toward the wall with her two fingers. She had a sultry gleam in her eyes and before House could even think about how good she smelled, she already had her thighs against his, gripping his shoulder blades tightly as she teased him with her hips. She brushed her abdomen against the tip of his member slowly.

"Fuck. Stop that," House said, but she shook her head and continued. He closed his eyes and laid back, and Cuddy, who loved the control he was allowing her, lowered herself on him at last.

He moved with her once he was inside, but she did most of the work that night; it was animalistic, almost, even though she was always gentle with House because of his leg. She gyrated and moved with such a rhythm that House's grunts became more and more relenting, until finally, he could say no more and had to admit that his devil of a woman had won. . . at least this time around.

"I have. . . to. . . say," he said, panting in between his words as she thrust herself onto him once more, an evil light in her eyes. "This. . . is. . . probably a nine point. . . seven. . . out of ten."

Cuddy replied breathily. "Oh really? Where. . . isthe other. . . point-three?"

Her concentration broke as she again lowered her hips, moving her body in a strong rhythm until finally she felt herself tighten around him. She closed her eyes, dug her nails into his shoulders, and did her best not to cry out, but it was hard.

She opened them after her orgasm subsided and looked into his eyes, which took only a moment more than her's had to open.

"There it is," he mumbled, a look of ecstasy within.

* * *

Cuddy rolled over in bed, her palms sweating, her breathing labored. House, grinning widely, didn't follow suit; instead, he laid still in his position and tucked his arms behind his head. His routine.

They never really cuddled after sex. It wasn't as if Cuddy didn't want it, she just wasn't sure if he did, so she never leaned into him. She didn't want to embarrass him. Not while she was conscious, anyway. She had never worked up enough courage to take that step, not even after so many months. But lately, House had surprised her. It had happened a few days ago for the first time and it had continued, much to Cuddy's satisfaction. After a few minutes of laying in silence, he had tucked his arm around her waist nonchalantly. It made her feel protected in a strange way, but protected none-the-less.

Cuddy thought the domestic side of them was still quite the alien concept, but they managed adequately when they wanted to.

She was content.

She felt him slide his arm around her as expected. A smile curled onto her lips and she closed her eyes. He couldn't see her face, so she had no problem exposing her emotions.

Slowly, she felt herself drifting off. She was a light sleeper; much like a cat, she woke up many times during the night and felt as though she had never really slept at all. She attributed this to the stress of her work. Three times that night, Cuddy awoke to House's shifting movements. Once, he had moved his body closer to rest against her backside; the other two times, he had simply been tracing his finger in lazy circles on her hip bone. She wasn't sure how spaced out her disturbances were, but it hadn't mattered much. She was too tired to think about it.

The fourth time she awoke, House was sitting up in bed, leaning back against the wall. She stretched her neck to look at him and gave him a questioning glare.

"House? Go to sleep," she mused, lightly noting that he seemed as though he was thinking.

He looked at her. The dark rested on his face but a few moonbeams streamed in through the billowing curtains, making his eyes visible.

"Am I keeping you up?"

It wasn't a question, really, because he knew the answer, and he didn't state it as a one. He knew her sleeping patterns, and he obviously wasn't the problem. Either way, Cuddy shook her head and yawned.

"You need to stop obsessing about the case."

"It's not that," House said lowly, looking straight ahead.

Cuddy didn't bother with asking what it was; she could tell he didn't want to talk. Instead, she did the only thing she could: she reached her hand up and placed it against his forearm.

"Try and get some sleep," she said softly, gripping tightly onto him. House didn't respond, but he didn't brush her away. When her breathing became more rapid and shallow, he glanced over at her sleeping figure, and then down at his arm. This time, it was his turn to grin.

Damn, he would miss her when she left tomorrow morning.

* * *

The next day, House's statement came to fruition. Cuddy had a medical conference to attend to. She would be gone for a few days in the next state over, and with no hesitance she had arranged the schedule with Marina and her staff at the hospital.

She had waited until yesterday to tell House where she was going, but he had picked up on her leaving much earlier than anyone else. He could tell by the way she became more rushed around the house and how she had started to make sure to take care of her inbox neatly every day at the hospital. Cuddy only did that when she would be unable to attend to it for a while, for whatever reason.

He had asked her where she was headed to, and she told him with casualness in her voice. He had simply nodded and walked out of her office and she thought nothing more of it.

Today, however, was her last day in Princeton, and she noticed that while she was shuffling around the house, getting everything ready and packing her bag, he was following her. He had contented himself with watching her, never saying much, and Cuddy took it with a grain of salt; he was just bored without cases.

"I'm leaving Rachel's extra bag in the basement, so tell Marina if it comes to that. . . don't think it will unless she gets sick. Dave is monitoring my phone calls and my office should remain locked otherwise. Cans are in the patio, your stuff is in the bedroom," Cuddy said to him absentmindedly, buttoning her bag and grabbing her jacket.

"Don't know why you're telling me this. I'm messier than the kid."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and leaned in to place a quick kiss on his lips. "I want you to be a good boy," she commanded as she pulled away. "Don't get into any fights at the hospital."

House didn't reply right away. Instead, he placed his hand against the banister on the wall and leaned to the side.

"You know, they hold that conference four times a year. Same conference."

"I know," Cuddy said. "I skipped the last one and I figure I should just get it out of the way." She was still incredibly absorbed with keeping Princeton's reputation up as well; another reason to go early.

"What about your whole clinic observation on Friday?"

"I have that taken care of," Cuddy replied.

House stopped talking for another moment, pursing his lips and watching her. Cuddy walked across the room and jangled with her keys, ready to take off.

"I'll see you on Monday."

House met her gaze, and for a moment, Cuddy swore she saw a flash of guilt within his eyes.

"You have things to do here."

Cuddy crinkled her brows, began walking toward him slowly and then smiled after a moment. A realization had hit her; he was diverting her, trying to stop her from leaving in the most subtle way possible.

"Are you codependent on me, House?"

House looked down at her, a small challenging smirk on his features. He neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions; instead, he drew away. There was still a smile on his mouth but he refused to look at her. It wasn't really embarrassed. . . just. . . submissive.

Cuddy knew he was. It was so obvious to her once she had picked up on it. He hung around her when he wasn't busy, he often diagnosed with her, and she never saw Wilson anymore. But that wasn't entirely his fault; Wilson had driven himself away too, with his new woman. He was moving on.

At least, temporarily. Until his whole shtick with Sam fell apart. Which would be some day soon; Cuddy could sense it.

But House felt that he no longer had Wilson, he no longer had Vicodin. . . Mayfield had provided him with the knowledge that human company was not as bad as he made it out to be, and his team was just that; his team. Nothing else in his life had any sort of commitment anymore, and so he clung to the only thing that did: her. She couldn't entirely blame him. She didn't feel sorry for him, he wasn't a man deserving of pity- at least, not in her eyes; because that made him pathetic, and despite her words Cuddy did not think House was pathetic. He was screwed up. . . vulnerable at times, but he wasn't pathetic. Cuddy's definition of pathetic was almost that of failure, and failure was the lowest you could ever go, according to her. No, he was just a man deserving of something, and if she was it, then so be it.

Funny, how life always had some sort of way of evening itself out in the end.

"I'll see you on Monday," Cuddy repeated, patting him on the arm in a somewhat humorous way. House said nothing, but as he looked at her there was a light fondness in his eyes and Cuddy tore her gaze away from him before he made her _want_ to stay.

House did need to work on his codependency issues. He knew it, Cuddy knew it. Would he ever overcome them- that was another story. If it wasn't an addiction, it was this. One or the other. Cuddy knew her choice without a second thought.

She made her way across the room, opened the door, and then looked back at him one more time. He was still in the same spot and he looked more alone than ever before, but he was refusing to show it. He simply nodded at her in his way of saying goodbye.

And maybe he was saying something else, too.

Cuddy smiled faintly in return and then closed the door, locking it, and padding over to her car. She climbed into her car quickly and pulled out of her driveway.

* * *

She spent two days putting her all into paying attention; two days in coming up with a good presentation and an even better disposition to greet various hospital heads. But she had to admit, once or twice, her mind went to him. On her second night she resisted the urge to call him- she didn't want to encourage his codependent ways. . . but her desire won out in the end, and she sat on the bed, one leg over the other, listening to the dial tone, shamefully drowning in her own guilt.

He never picked up, though, and she wasn't sure if she should have been relieved or disappointed.


	17. Protect Me From What I Want

**Author's Note: **_I am so, so, so sorry that this took so dreadfully long. To be honest I have been so loaded with homework that finding time to post this was so hard. Not to worry though, kiddies. I have the ending all set, so you won't have to wait so long again. Once again, so freaking sorry. Forgive me? -Sad eyes-

* * *

_

"House, next time, I swear to God. We are taking a bus to a game. I am NOT seeing another monster truck show in the rain."

House gave a snide smirk as he climbed the front steps of Cuddy's porch. Wilson tagged behind and then looked up, a strange, uneasy expression in his eyes as he realized where they were.

"Why are we stopping at Cuddy's again?" He asked, forgetting that he was annoyed.

House didn't really know himself; he had just taken a moment to drop off some of his stuff in her room before he left. She was coming back tomorrow, after all.

He also thought he'd conveniently point out spots in which he'd nailed Cuddy around the house as they passed through. Perhaps even give Wilson a detailed analysis of how many points she had earned.

"I've got to take care of some things," he said simply, without further explanation, and then unlocked the door and let himself in. Wilson followed cautiously and then averted his eyes to the walls of the house, scanning the place.

"Calm down Jimmy boy, Satan's not even here!" House said in a falsely melodramatic tone, passing through both the kitchen and stopping right before the back patio.

"I'mmmmm just going to stay here and wait, if you don't mind," Wilson said anyway, remaining by the doorway. He wasn't really afraid, House knew that, but he was much more respectful of Cuddy's privacy and preferred not to snoop around.

Or, perhaps he was just sure of House's motives and slightly jealous. House preferred this thought and smirked to just himself.

With a shrug, he dismissed himself and instead began to rummage through some of the knickknacks on the patio table, with some false hope that he would find his driver's license; the artifact he now realized he had come for. He had no idea where he had left it, it had been missing for days, but the last time he had it handy was when it was in his coat pocket. And a week ago, that coat had been. . . quite. . . frazzled and then neglected in this particular room.

House didn't find what he was looking for, but he did find a drawer of neatly organized index cards and a shopping list. He shook his head in slight annoyance. Only Cuddy would be this obsessive. Or maybe Marina, who had taken Rachel for the week, had done it. Either way, Cuddy had hired someone that she was _sure_ was this obsessive. Such was her preference. He had no idea why, but the thought both annoyed and aroused him. He was so screwed up, he thought, as he realized his attraction to her even as an obsessive, insecure mess.

Ignoring his feelings, he clumsily got down on his knees and felt his way over to the couch, sliding his hand beneath it and groping around. The only thing that met his fingertips was rug at first, and House sighed. As much as he hated it, he was going to have to ask Wilson to drive them to where ever they were going next. It didn't matter, though. As long as he could get drunk, everything would turn out pretty well.

Suddenly his hand grazed against something and he felt a tiny sting by his fingertip, like a paper cut. House pulled his hand out, raised a brow, and then stuck it back in, feeling back for whatever it was that had drawn blood. When he found it again, he studied it with his touch. It felt like a file.

He slid it out carefully after a moment and looked at it. There, in front of him, sat the file of Cuddy's sperm donor.

Applicant #B42. Age: 39.

With mixed feelings House stared at the cover of the file, almost unsure if he wanted to open it. Just as he was about to do so, Wilson walked into the room, interrupting him.

"You know, you really should work on your action-and-consequence skills. How exactly were you planning on getting back to your feet without-"

"Hey, look. It's Cuddy's sperm donor."

"WHAT?"

House looked up; Wilson looked horrified.

"Sperm donor?" He said after a long minute of gaping, looking vividly confused and shocked. "Cuddy's pregnant?"

"Sam's a woman?" House sarcastically quipped back, but then averted his gaze back to the file and became serious. He didn't care that he had just spilled Cuddy's secret to Wilson. Deep down inside he knew she had been planning to do so first, anyway. Nature had just gotten in the way. She would act mad if she found out, but she wouldn't be. And she wouldn't find out.

"House?"

"No, Cuddy's not pregnant. She was back in November. She had a donor but it fell through."

Wilson stayed glued to his spot, unsure of what to reply.

"Why didn't she. . . say anything?"

"Because she's Cuddy? Damned if I knew," House said, in an annoyed tone. "Are you going to come over and mock this guy with me or not?"

Wilson opened his mouth, stopped, and then closed it. With no further protest, he stepped over the doorway and into the room to look over House's shoulder at the file.

They read it for a minute in silence, but House was the first to break it. "Thirty nine year old male, caucasian. . . some facial hair. One living parent. Oh, hey, look. They checked the little box that said no allergies and he doesn't have diabetes. What a good little Y chromosome."

"He's got one living parent? Usually you'd want both to be alive," Wilson noted.

"Hey. One living parent is good enough in my she-devil's eyes. Maybe it made her feel less pathetic for being a single mother."

"Or maybe the genetics on one side of his family suck."

"Look," House said, ignoring this. "He's got blue eyes. Think that's egotistical of her, to want a baby with her eyes, or just plain pathetic?"

"Is there a picture?" Wilson asked notably, his brows furrowed. House turned it over, looked through all of the papers, and then shook his head.

"Funny," Wilson finally said, after they had finished skimming through the file. "Funny."

House looked at him, slightly irritably. "Are you going to repeat yourself again or tell me what's funny? The fact that CuddleCox-Arquette has bum ovaries is mildly funny, but after a while I just find laughing at it cruel-"

"It's just that, if you look at the simple facts on paper. . . Cuddy pretty much picked _you_ to be that baby's father."

House fell silent, and then closed the folder and put it back where it had been.

"Well, I'm going to be waiting in the car. If you still want to go to that steakhouse, Sam's not going to be home for a while," Wilson said casually.

"Or off of her period," House mumbled, but his jab lacked sincerity. Wilson gave a knowing grin and then dismissed himself from the room. House stayed where he was for the time being, unable to get up with ease and too tired to attempt it.

Good to know he hadn't been the only that noticed.


End file.
